White Noise
by Endles
Summary: There are the things you're meant to see, and the things you're not supposed to see. Admittedly, Dean Winchester didn't give a damn. Dean/Castiel
1. Chapter 1

**White noise**

**Chapter 1**

There are the things you're _meant_ to see, and the things you're not _supposed _to see.

Admittedly, Dean Winchester didn't give a damn.

He followed the figure from his dreams and caught up to him just outside of Denver. His breath was fogging as he pulled over and stepped out of the car to the field empty, with the exception of the man in his trench coat. The first two steps were a bit wobbly but the determination pumping through his veins made it impossible to turn back. Besides, when had Dean ever run away? _When had he not? _He shrugged to himself as he walked, hands in his pockets and stared at the man.

The guy didn't move, he didn't even inch—_hell, _even his coat didn't sway in the wind, which was freaky. He was like an odd statue of some… creeper. Who would want a statue of a guy that looked like he was gonna flash you, Dean didn't know. He was close enough now to make out the details of his clothes and see the way dark browns and black and maybe a hint of gray swirled in the man's hair, though the colors were mudded by the dim light.

"Hey," he called out, realizing that now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. So he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"A bit chilly, don't—"

Luckily or not, he didn't get to finish the sentence.

"Why are you _really_ here?"

His voice was low, gruff, slow… Dean's mind was suddenly flooded with different adjectives describing it. He hadn't ever heard it before, he'd only been guessing; guessing and guessing until there was nothing left to guess and yet never had he been right. After everything, a dream could not compare to reality, which came suddenly crashing down straight to Dean's face. He sucked in a shocked breath. There was a million things to answer, some sarcastic some funny and others not so much.

"I wanna know," he said sincerely and willed away all instincts to run or play-pretend, "what is it that you want?"

The man then turned around and gave him a half-smile as a reply. Dean's eyes widened for in that flash of moonlight he swore he caught a glimpse of white feathers spreading from his back.

"I want," he said very carefully as if tasting the words, "you."

-x-

For as long as he remembered, Dean had had these dreams… where 'dream' was the wrong word entirely, because he sure as hell didn't wish to see them and mostly he wasn't even asleep. But that's what he would call them, that's what he would say to his parents when they caught him acting a little weird and they would believe him, because he wasn't weird like Sam and having a few odd dreams was okay compared to that. The Sam standard of weird was having demons whispering to your ears as you walk down the street and seeing things happen before they happened etcetera, while the Dean standard of weird was… actually not very far from that, and in truth the Dean standard of _normal_, but nobody besides him had to know that.

Except for Sammy, as it turned out to be one day when he was nine years old, and his younger brother was five.

He was walking down from school, alone as he usually was. It wasn't that he couldn't get friends—people liked him and he liked people, but there was just something…something telling him it was wise to keep others away. _Maybe_ it was the fact that he could see things like, y'know, dead people's spirits in crowds or that he sometimes would catch something dark and evil and horrible in the corner of his eyes. But hey, you could never know, it could've just as well been that he didn't want to introduce others to his baby brother, right? The baby brother he absolutely treasured above all else in the world? Yes?

No—he always had a faint fear in his mind: if he could see these things, who was to say that they couldn't see him, sense him seeing them as well? Nobody, that's who, and so he kept on edge, held his distance and kept close to those important to him, his family.

That particular day had been tiring, but normal in a way that made you want to lull yourself to sleep in a false sense of security. Dean kicked the pebbles on the sidewalk counting in his mind how many days left until summer vacation and wondering what was for dinner. He was _not _expecting to be swept off ground by strong arms appearing out of nowhere. Other thing he was _not _expecting to hear was Sam's surprised shriek just two seconds after as he was unceremoniously dropped onto his little brother's bed. _Inside his house._

"Dean," Sammy's eyes were wide and his nostrils were flaring in a way that would long into the future become the first hint to Dean that his brother was not okay. "Dean."

Apparently, the little guy was in a state of shock—who wouldn't be—that made him repeat Dean's name and gape like a fish. Dean rubbed his back, which now stung because of the fall.

"Yeah, I hear ya Sammy."

Sam hopped on the bed and poked his side, probably to make sure he was really there.

"You dropped from the sky… I thought it wouldn't happen. I didn't believe him when he said you would."

"Believe me, I didn't eit," he paused suddenly mid-word as the meaning of what Sam had just said caught up with him. "_Who _said I would what?"

"The trickster," Sam said like it was the most reasonable explanation in the world. "I've met him before too, but only when I'm sleeping. This time was different."

"Okay."

Dean looked at Sam, Sam looked at Dean. The universe held its breath for a while.

"I think we're screwed," Dean stated seriously.

Sam's face fell.

"Oh."

-x-

By the time Dean was fifteen, Sam, the little nerd, had thought up a theory for what was happening in their lives. He was _eleven. _Sometimes Dean felt his brother was far older than his years, but mostly not… mostly he was just that snot-nosed kid brother of his that he had to watch out for.

"So let's say there're two planes in existence," Sam started out of the blue looking up from his homework assignment at a puzzled Dean, who was holding a kettle. Their parents were out for the night. "Or there could be millions but we're looking at two. There's the plane reality's on…"

"We talking 'bout what kind of planes now? Jumbo jets?" Dean couldn't help himself.

His brother stuck out his tongue like the mature eleven year old he was—which was kind of relieving in some twisted way. "And anyway, then there's the plane where are the things that come from imagination. Like, the imaginary-plane."

Dean filled the kettle with water and listened to the continuing lecture.

"People see only the things on reality-plane but they can sort of feel the things on imaginary-plane, because they _are _there, even if they can't see them." Sam held a pause while he watched the older boy place the kettle on the stove, digging up instant noodles from a drawer. "And these two planes are overlapping, and on the edges it's—fuzzy."

Dean raised his eyebrows in a way he'd picked up from his father. "Fuzzy?"

"Like white noise, but you see it; if you took every imaginable plane that human eye can see and combined them you have the edges. That's what we're seeing, the edge, the dead people and the things that to others are only creations of imagination, but to us, it's real. In theory it should work the other way too." Sam had a pondering expression on as he stared at the paper in front of him; no doubt that it was the last thing in his mind. His brother sighed.

"Okay smart-pants, any idea why do _we _see the white… crap?" He tried to come up with something, really. Sam threw him a look. "Can't call it noise, can you…oh well. Just answer."

"I don't know, maybe we _are _the edges?"

"Plausible, definitely," Dean said voice very dry.

"Well you come up with something," Sam pouted slightly. "It's not that we're special or anything and I know you don't believe in destiny, so I'm not going to suggest it."

"Fuck destiny," Dean said merrily and dropped noodles in the kettle.

-x-

After that they hadn't talked about what or why for years. It just had been—they could see things others couldn't, and that was that. What they had talked about, though, had been how to kill stuff, because if you got a gift, you have to use it somehow, or that's what Sam thought at least. Dean for his part hadn't been that keen on the idea of hunting down the more dangerous, more evil things they saw. You shouldn't try to poke the tiger with a stick when it was angry, but ultimately Sam would be the end of him and he couldn't say no to the boy. If he wasn't there, there would be nobody saving Sam's sorry ass when he attempted to try something on his own.

So monster hunting, huh… he could deal with that.

They only did it when the opportunity hit them in the face, like when Sam stumbled upon a wraith or whatever it was on his very first day of junior high or the time when Dean's prom night turned from awful to… well, worse. It was something to do other than school and actually when you got used to the idea, Dean thought it was sort of _fun. _It was helping people, whether they knew it or not, as in this case, and that made him maybe a bit proud. He was doing a good thing—their dad had always taught them to be good.

Speaking of their dad, the thing didn't go as well with their parents as it went between the brothers. As far as John and Mary Winchester knew, they had one odd son (Sammy) who had since forever said he saw things before they happened and when he had been a child they'd even gone as far as took him to some counselling, because he had claimed that the lady next-doors was a demon. But that had been before, and now things were pretty normal with Sam, who still sometimes had that look on him, like he was seeing something different from what they saw, but was otherwise a great son. And they had Dean, who whilst not ever having been that weird, was difficult. Like, really.

To be honest, it wasn't his fault. He just didn't fit in well. Anywhere. Ever. He didn't make friends. Sure, he had people to hang out with but nobody he could really trust, because he didn't let anyone that close. He got into fights and he didn't like school all that much. But hey, he cared for his family and that was important? At least Dean thought it was. So he kept on to that thought and struggled with high school while fighting monsters in the dark.

The good thing about the creatures they could see was that they really _could _see them. They were physically there, though they could often vanish into thin air. What Dean didn't like, were the _dreams, _the things he saw when he went to bed and closed his eyes for the night.

Sam had always had weird dreams, things about the next day that would come true, or the trickster that had first been only in his head and who then had grabbed Dean that one day. To this day, Sam told him that he hadn't actually ever seen the guy; he could never remember what he looked like when he woke up, only his voice. From what Sam told, the trickster liked showing him nightmares that involved Dean getting killed over and over again for no apparent reason. Dean told him that if the jerk ever decided to show up, he would be the honorary first on his good riddance-list.

Dean's dreams were different, though, and he never told Sam about them either. It was something he kept to himself, mainly because they felt private and it somehow would've been awkward to tell _everything_ about them, so if he couldn't show Sam the whole picture, he'd rather show him no picture at all. His dreams all had the same man, dark hair, blue eyes and a trench coat, always the same stupid trench coat. And all his life, all the nights, all the hours he had been asleep, he had been following this man. Never speaking, always running after him in a goose chase. He had tried stopping, he had gone through that in his dreams and while awake too, but it had been useless—the guy standing there, looming over his dreams had been even more unbearable than walking with him through what Dean had always thought as an endless sea of memories. Whose memories they were, he didn't know. He only knew that if he could ever catch the trench coat-man, he would have the answers.

-x-

It figured that it would all go wrong on a Saturday.

It was May and Sam had just turned fourteen, Dean was graduating in a month and everything should've been a little stressed but overall more excited than anything else. That was when Dean met the mystery man from his dreams for the first time.

Okay, maybe saying 'met' was a little exaggerating, seeing as the real situation went like this: Dean and Sam were walking towards the library, looking for leads on the ghost they'd seen a few days previous. It was all like usual, except that in the traffic lights the older suddenly had his breath taken from him as he watched a very familiar man stop right across the street, staring at him almost expectantly. He spurred into movement, ignoring Sam's near-panicked yell and almost getting hit by a car, but by the time he had crossed the street, the man was gone. And Sam punched him.

"What the hell Dean?" His voice was angry, but it couldn't cover the worry in his eyes, the scare. "Were you trying to get yourself killed?"

Dean ignored it for the sake of his question. "Tell me you saw that man?"

"What man?"

"The man in the trench coat! The man who just waltzed here and then _poof_ he was gone!"

Sam looked confused. "Um, no?"

"Oh for the love of…" Dean rolled his eyes and then took his most serious face. "Look, there's this guy in a trench coat…"

"Yeah, I get that."

He pretended not to hear the sarcasm. "I've been seeing him in my… damn, in my _dreams _since forever. He's always making me follow him and now he was right there," he wailed with his hands. "I'm not nuts, I know he was there. I just don't know what it means…"

"Woah, woah, slow down." As far as Dean could read his expressions, Sam looked pissed. "You've been seeing him in your _dreams_? For how long?"

The older half-sighed. "For years, but—"

"_Years?_" It was a high pitched shriek when it left Sam's mouth, but nobody would ever tell him. "And it didn't occur to you to tell me?"

"C'mon Sammy, it isn't important..."

"Yeah? Are _my_ dreams not important?"

Dean gave him a stern look. "I thought it was just a normal dream, not like yours."

"So now I'm different... what makes you anymore normal than me?" Sam was almost full-out shouting. "What gives you the right to... to not tell me when I've told you everything? Because I'm some weirdo, I see things in my dreams and I'm always thinking that it must be about me, and now you tell me you—" He opened and closed his mouth trying to get the words out, before stopping to swallow anymore words to that sentence and turning away. "Forget it. Guess I'm not gonna tell you either."

"About what?"

Sam was silent. Dean kicked a pebble

"Okay then..." his voice was strained. "I'm damn sorry."

"Like hell you are."

"Watch it."

A trespasser gave them an odd look. Birds chirped.

They had fought a million times, over trivial things, over big things, but for the first time Dean felt like he would be better off alone. Sam had for a long time now tried to be normal. Yeah, he had been the one who came up with the white noise-theory and he had been the one to suggest killing monsters, but under the surface he longed to be like everyone else. He worked hard to fit in. Maybe if Dean was gone from the picture, Sam would have a chance to try that for real.

An old basset hound barked with a hollow voice and Dean swallowed.

"I'm leaving Sammy."

He turned and nobody tried to stop him.

-x-

Hello, hello to all readers and thank you very much for reading the first chapter of White noise!

This is my first fic from Supernatural, and first published fic in ages, so I can't imagine what possessed me to write the longest fic I've ever written. Well, it's not that long when compared to the fics some (more amazing than me) people write, but all I've ever done before have been one shots. So, I'd like to thank my lovely Mikomiko for all the support and checking my mistakes and correcting Dean's name so very many times. I'm nothing without you, dear~

This story will be 10 chapters long (though some chapters will be shorter) and I'll try to update weekly.

Um, if you spot any mistakes please tell me and if you enjoy the story, don't hesitate to leave a comment. They make a writer's day. :)

**Love, Endles**


	2. Interlude 1

**Interlude 1**

It took Sam two days to stop being mad, two months to sort of forgive his brother and accept that it was better he was gone, and two years to finally admit what an idiot he'd been and what an idiot Dean had been too.

When Dean left him on the street, he was furious. Furious for his brother for one little thing that actually was a million unresolved things that weighed on him and he was _fourteen. _Who could blame him? There was also one thing he was furious about, though he wasn't sure if he was angry at himself or Dean or the world in general. So he kept it all inside and when he went home and found out there was no Dean and no car, it didn't move him anymore.

Mary and John Winchester were… well shocked, to say the least. First they questioned him and then questioned him some more, but there wasn't really that much Sam could tell them. He said that Dean and he had gotten into a fight over something trivial and that Dean had run off. It was the truth.

Their parents called Dean a million times and when he answered he said he was alright and that he was keeping the car. Their father told him he was dead if he ever came back and Dean apparently didn't care. When their mother got the phone she was sobbing and pleading for her son to come back and saying it would be alright. Somehow Dean managed to calm her and when she put down the phone she said that Dean had made his choice. Well, she had always been calm and she really had believed in Dean even when nobody except Sam did. This was her way of loving him.

Life went on without his brother, and Sam spent his summer doing normal things with his friends. He went to middle school the next fall and met a girl named Jessica, whom he soon became best friends with. Everything was starting to look picture perfect, not weird like he was used to.

That's when he found a man in his mirror.

He walked into the bathroom he and Dean had used to share one evening, grabbed his toothbrush and glanced at the mirror. Then he dropped the toothbrush, because there was a man standing next to him. He turned around, fast, like he'd learned to move during the short while he'd gone monster hunting, but there was no one in the room with him. He shot his eyes back at the glass. The man smiled and opened his mouth.

"You see a ghost, kiddo?"

He waggled his eyebrows. Sam stared with his mouth slightly agape.

"What?" the man asked throwing his hands open, hitting Sam's mirror image in the stomach. "Okay, tell me: there's something on my face, isn't there?"

Sam finally caught his voice. "You're the trickster!" he hissed.

The man snapped his fingers and confetti started raining in the mirror.

"Bingo!"

Sam cringed. "What are you doing here…there?"

"Well," the man drawled the word. "It's a long story really. So to make it short, let's say I'm babysitting you… and it wasn't my idea. I've been in your dreams, wait… that sounds kinda bad, doesn't it?" Sam gave him a look and the trickster smirked. "Anyway, lately you're only having those visions that I can't step into, so I figured this was the next best option."

"You're… watching over me?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Exactly." Again drawling. "I'm your personal guardian… trickster!"

Sam paused and thought about everything he could remember about this man; every time he had seen him in his dreams, everything he had seen the man do. He had always been there as far as his memory went. He had been showing him things, some odd, some good, but most of all it had seemed like he was being protected. Sam was smart, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that this man was no pagan god—they just didn't do the things Sam had seen him do.

"You're an angel," Sam said and quietly delighted in the way the man's mouth fell open. "Is there something on _my _face?"

Score:

Sam 1 – mystery angel 0

-x-

I seriously love writing Gabriel.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

True to his words, Dean _really_ left. He took the Impala and drove all day and night, not really knowing what direction he was heading, but not really caring about it. His parents called him, but he only answered once, telling them that he wasn't coming back and then telling his mother to take care of Sam. The next day he spent roadside, sleeping in the car since he had no money to waste on a motel, and figured out a goal for himself. He would find the trench coat man, and along the way, he'd kill as many evil sons of bitches as he could. It was a good plan in his opinion, but there was one fault in it as he soon noticed: he didn't get any money and it was hard to live without.

So he drove around, taking an odd job here and there, staying for a few weeks, disposing of any evil spirits or creatures alike he could find and moving forward. The thing was, he didn't have a clue where he was going, other than his dreams. He figured that when he was in the same place he always was in his dreams (or even one of the places, he had no idea if it was many places or just one) he would recognise it... probably. And though the plan was idiotic, even Dean would admit that, it was so _idiotic _it was bound to succeed, or so he hoped.

Eventually, it did too, just not in the way he expected it to.

In August he was driving through Nebraska when he stumbled upon Harvelle's Roadhouse. He figured he'd stop for a bite, but when he took the first step out of his baby his knees almost gave under him. He felt a sense of déjà vu flood him, so strong that it left his head spinning and he had the urge to throw up. That was when he knew he'd finally found something more concrete than a fleeting feeling of a man he was supposed to know, but he didn't.

He gathered his courage and walked inside, almost expecting to fall right to the man's lap, but nothing like that happened. Instead he walked in on two women, most likely a mother and a daughter, arguing loudly.

"Oh _no,_ you don't Joanna Beth Harvelle, and that is final!"

Dean winced at the sheer sound of the woman's voice, but nobody saw it.

"Yeah? Because you say so? Didn't stop daddy!"

Now that Dean really saw the younger, there was no doubt that she was just a girl. She had blonde hair like her mother, an angry expression and she couldn't have been even Sammy's age.

"You're _twelve _don't expect that you can tell me what you will and won't do," the woman said with a tone of finality, noticing Dean standing by the doorway. "Go to your room Jo, you don't want to throw a tantrum in front of a customer."

The girl turned and threw Dean a look, before marching off.

He tried his best to look innocent as he finally stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Bad timing, huh?"

The woman smiled without real feeling. "You could say that... Sorry about my daughter. She's very stubborn... thinks that at twelve you own the world, but I guess that's normal."

Dean thought about Sam and how they'd always fought but had never ever really tried to make peace. They'd just let it slip, partly because Dean disliked girly things like making up. He thought about not knowing if it was normal, because he wasn't normal and neither was Sam.

"I have a little brother," he ended up saying. What he left unsaid were the things about feeling remorse for not calling him the past months, how he felt like they had fought like hell but it should've made them closer not thrown them apart. He didn't say that he thought the lady should try to understand her daughter a bit more, even if Dean had no idea what they were arguing about. "I know that feel."

She smiled, truly this time, and walked behind the counter. "Well, boy. Ellen Harvelle is not known for just chatting with promising customers. What shall I get you?"

Dean bought some food and a beer, promising Ellen to stay and sit the alcohol out of his system before leaving. There weren't any customers in the Roadhouse then, but she promised that by night there would be a lot, most of them regulars.

"Maybe you'll become one too, not scared by this little bicker you had to witness?" She asked jokingly and told him to call out for her if someone walked in, before apparently following her daughter up. He nodded and sipped his beer and felt like he was at _home_, because somehow it was just so nostalgic, so familiar, even if he _knew _he hadn't ever been there.

-x-

It turned out Ellen was right. Dean ended up returning to the Roadhouse after two days, which he spent chasing an especially nasty werewolf in the town twenty miles from the place. He was slightly battered up after the job was done and was it his tired brain's plea for comfort or just a coincidence he found himself by the Harvelles' place instead of any motel.

When he walked in this time, he bumped with a weird looking man carrying a laptop. The guy looked him up and down, taking notice of the rips on his clothes and the bruises forming on his cheek and bristled.

"Thugs get you or what?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "Something like it."

Then somebody bumped into him; specifically, his back.

He slid to the left to make room for whoever was trying to get in and saw little Jo Harvelle looking like she'd just done something she wasn't supposed to.

"Oh, it's you," she said and looked at Dean like he'd done something wrong too—which he hadn't, as far as he knew. Then she turned to the odd man and her face lit up slightly. "Ash, you're back!"

The man grinned. "Yeah I am! Miss me?"

Jo scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I've got news though." She looked around and her eyes stopped on Dean, before she apparently decided Dean wasn't worth it and continued. "Somebody got rid of the wolf. I just heard mum talking to the guy he called, it turns out the thing was dead when he got there."

"Well that's good news. I guess you didn't have to, after all," Ash said very sincerely to the girl and then turned to Dean. "Vicious beasts, those doggies, aren't they? Little miss here is very serious about them, especially after her father's accident with them..."

Dean didn't even listen, because he knew, he knew what they were really talking about; because they were talking about the bitch he'd just ended.

"Lookit chap, I know there are no wolves in Nebraska," he said with an annoyed tone that made the man almost drop his laptop. "Not the regular kind, at least," Dean continued and turned his eyes to Jo, who was looking really serious. "Y'know what I'm talking about?"

She nodded. "You're a hunter too," she whispered. "You can see things. Come on."

Joanna Harvelle grabbed his arm and he was dragged along to the back of the Roadhouse where he sat first with her and Ash and later with Ellen and told them his life story so far, leaving out some things about Sammy and things like the man in his dreams, for now. In turn he listened to Ellen's story about her late husband, who had had the same gift and had died, and how that gift had been passed to her daughter.

When the night fell, Dean was welcomed into his own guest room no questions asked, and he fell asleep thinking about home and Sam.

-x-

He spent almost one year and eight months with the Harvelles, in and out of hunts. It became a home base for him, the place he would return to, and then more like the place he would occasionally leave to take care of an odd monster here and there. He was able to do it like that because endless stream of information passed through the road house every day. He didn't have to trust his luck or his eyes to find a hunt, he would hear about it from someone who had been there, or had seen something. He learned to pick up signs too, Jo taught him, which was whimsical in all ways.

Whenever he was around Ellen was generous enough to offer him work, and pay him. The first time he tried to offer her the money back, saying that he was being a pest for them, but she only told him to work harder then. Soon, Dean felt like things had always been like that, except...except he couldn't forget Sammy, couldn't shake off the worry and most of all couldn't ignore the dreams that still bothered him as soon as he closed his eyes and sleep took him away.

Then, one Sunday morning late February, he walked into the bathroom with a yawn that soon turned into a manly, mind you, shriek. Because that, was when he first came face to face with Mr. Trench coat.

Jo was by his side in a second, looking slightly panicked, but then noticing there was no one around and smirking. "Scared by your own face, Dean?" She asked with a snicker.

"I thought for a moment I had turned into _you_." Dean shoved her away, gently. "Bugger off, Jo."

He closed the bathroom door, staring at it for a while and breathing, before turning to face the mirror. The man was still there, tilting his head to the side like trying to comprehend what had just happened before him.

"Oh, like you have the right for that," Dean muttered and went for his toothbrush.

For the time he spent brushing his teeth and washing his face the man watched like he was endlessly fascinated by Dean. Dean stared sourly and when he was done with his normal routines he knocked the glass. The man seemed to step back at that. Dean gritted his now clean teeth.

"C'mon, can't you talk to me?"

The man paused for a second then shook his head slowly, as if trying the action. Dean didn't sigh, but he felt like it.

"Of course you wouldn't..."

His silent companion looked like he was digging his pockets, even though Dean could not see them in the mirror's limited space. After a while he seemed to find something and soon there was a small piece of paper in his hands that he cleanly folded and pressed into the glass on his side, if his side had a mirror. _"angels & demons"_ it read.

"What? You talking about Dan Brown now?" Dean asked and Mr. Trench coat looked so positively confused, it made Dean grin a little. He seemed pleased with the answer though, and promptly walked away from view before Dean had the chance to ask anything else.

He stared at the mirror for a while after and then shook his head.

"You really suck at goodbyes..." he said to the empty bathroom.

Later Dean went downstairs where he ignored Jo's grins and tapped Ash, who was loitering around, on the shoulder. The man didn't technically live there, but he was there so often he just as well might've.

"Hey, you know anything about people stuck in mirrors?" he asked.

The man pulled a face. "Through the looking glass?"

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Not really, no," Ash continued. "You should probably ask Ellen."

So he did. And when she refused to believe he was just curious, he ended up explaining what had happened and then telling her about the dreams. Throughout the whole explanation she looked thoughtful, and once he was finished she only said.

"I can't really help you, but I know someone who might."

-x-

Dean coughed nervously to himself and knocked on the door.

It was the first day of March and he was in South Dakota, having left the Roadhouse the previous night. Ellen had told him to head to Sioux Falls where an old friend of her husband's lived and now he was standing on the said friend's front porch... which was quite nice actually.

There was shuffling from inside, then fumbling with the lock and soon a man with a stern look, beard and a trucker cap was standing ten inches from him.

"What d'ya want?" His voice was gruff, but friendlier than Dean had expected. A lot friendlier—actually he was somehow reminded of a care bear, probably because he was screwed in the head.

Dean cleared his throat. "Robert Singer, right?"

The man seemed to glare at him. Maybe he had something on his face? He had to push away the urge to turn around and retreat back to the safety of his baby.

"I— I'm a friend of Ellen and Jo Harvelle. I have this problem, with um, mirrors," he felt _far _too self-conscious under the man's eyes, and that caused him to babble, while the man listened silently, _judgingly _Dean added in his head. He was reminded of his father.

"Anyway, they told me your address and said that maybe you could help, so... here I am?" He finished lamely and his smile looked more of a grimace or a plea of _"please don't kill me, I'm really not worth it."_

The man let out a huff, but he obviously wasn't too annoyed. He even smiled a little as he grabbed Dean's shoulder, gently might he add.

"Goddamn it boy, stop acting like a chicken an' come inside," he said and ushered the twenty year-old in. "And call me Bobby."

That was when Dean realized that he would like this man—that he _already_ liked this man, and that by some chance the man liked him too. Bobby led him through his house into the kitchen and in ten minutes he was seated across the man with a steaming hot cup of black coffee in front of him.

"So what d'ya say 'bout mirrors?" Bobby asked and sipped his coffee.

"I said I have a problem with them."

Dean breathed in the scent and felt calm, again like with the Harvelles too calm considering that he was in some man's kitchen drinking hot beverages and discussing men who lived in mirrors. Somehow, he couldn't be bothered to care anymore, his life was odd and he was okay with it. The only thing left to do was to deal with the things as they came.

"A lil' more would be nice."

And so he was once again telling his story. He'd always hated talking about himself, one of the reasons he'd preferred not having friends, but it seemed like he was getting the hang of it. Who'd have thought? Bobby listened, mostly quiet but really listened like he cared. This time, Dean ended up telling more than he'd told Ellen and Jo, which surprised him a bit... then again, it was probably because of the way Bobby listened and didn't ask anything, he had to tell everything he thought would be important and ended up telling everything.

He told him about being always weird, but never telling anyone and being left alone by everyone except his brother. He told about the way he'd protected his brother, even if Sam hadn't known it. He'd told him about the way they'd fought but stuck together until the last fight. He told about how Sammy deserved to be normal, because he wanted to be normal, and Dean didn't want to be in his way.

When he was done he expected the man to ask something about the trench coat man or even tell him something useful, but instead he said something that caught Dean off guard:

"You miss yer brother."

He smiled into his mug. Bobby could probably see the sadness in his eyes.

"Hell yes, I miss him."

-x-

He spent the night in Bobby's guest room and the next morning when he walked into the bathroom, the guy was there again. He stared into the baby blue eyes of his and then turned around, marching back into the bedroom. He grabbed his cell and wrote a text message to Sam, hitting 'send' before he could change his mind.

"_Talking to the mirror, can I get any crazier?"_

It wasn't an apology, but it was a start. With new resolve he returned to the bathroom, where Trench coat-guy waited patiently.

"So, long time no see?" Dean offered. His silent friend looked unamused. "You know where I am?"

The man nodded very carefully, like he wasn't sure if he was doing it right.

"You think you know?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Well, let me tell you: I'm on the road to find who the fuck you are and what you want."

Mr. Trench coat looked like he hadn't been quite expecting that response. After retaliating, he immediately looked very serious and started digging his pockets like Dean recognised from the last time. This time the paper read: _"Sam"_

And yeah, that one he knew.

"The hell—what do you want with him?"

The man pointed at him and just because he wanted to be sure Dean pointed at himself too.

"Me? You want me to... what, talk to Sam?"

Nod.

"Right..." Dean trailed off. "Well, I'm trying."

And like the last time, the man was gone in a blink.

Dean figured it was best to not think about it for now and he washed his face to forget and headed back to the guest room. He picked up his cell from the bed and noticed that there actually was one unread message.

"_Wait till they start talking back"_

It was short, and definitely not an apology either, but it brought a smile to Dean's face.

After that Dean headed downstairs, where Bobby was making breakfast. They talked about the mysterious mirror-man among other things, but Bobby wasn't really sure what to make of it yet. Dean learned that the man was a hunter, had been for a long, long time ever since his wife had died because of possession. He learned that Bobby had a garage he worked on when he wasn't hunting, and that he knew most everything about anything. He learned that he could speak Japanese and that he could make mean omelettes and that he had an apron that said _"kiss the chef_".

After breakfast he asked if Dean was any good with cars.

And so he ended up staying at Bobby's house after the first night.

-x-

So many stupid mistakes in this chapter, please tell me if I missed any. Oh, and happy holidays to everyone! I'm probably spending my Christmas break writing another supernatural story... we'll see how that one goes.


	4. Interlude 2

**Interlude 2**

Knowing he had an angel to watch over him didn't really change Sam's life all that much. Especially since the only things he managed to get out of the angel were his name and that liked sweets, the second being a completely irrelevant piece of information he had never asked to know. With time he got to know that the man liked teasing him, but he had kind of guessed that from all the dreams he'd had as a child.

The only thing he gained from it was that he had somebody to talk to, somebody to tell all the things he couldn't say to others and he knew that Gabriel wouldn't tell them to anyone.

So he spoke with him almost every night. It was little things at first, things that didn't really matter like what he liked about Jess or some weird thing he'd seen while he had been out. The angel was a surprisingly good listener, a trait Sam hadn't expected of him based on his actions. He would ask the right questions and nudge him in the right direction with his remarks, humorous or not. Slowly Sam began opening up a little more, so he told Gabriel about his brother and the things they'd done and what he loved about Dean and how he kind of hated him. He told him that he felt like he could be normal but then every night when he walked into the bathroom and looked into the mirror he was reminded that he was not.

"I'm sorry for that, kiddo," the man told him and for once it seemed like he was being really sincere.

Sam smiled. "Don't be."

Though he told the angel most everything there remained one thing that he did not speak aloud. It was the same one thing that he hadn't told Dean about, the one thing he'd been trying to tell the day his brother had left and since then it had gnawed inside him. If it had been up to Sam he would've kept it inside for the rest of his life but luckily or unluckily it was not.

He was fifteen and it was almost Christmas when he was stopped dead on his way home by a woman with tanned skin and dark brown curls standing right in the middle of the street. Only there was on tiny fault in the situation, for the woman was no woman at all.

Her eyes flashed black and she smiled. "Hey Sammy, remember me?"

He clenched his fists.

"We used to talk so much but now you've been silent… It's a shame." She walked closer while Sam backed away. "I've come to finish the deal y'know, I have to."

"Ruby," Sam huffed and the woman stopped, looking pleasantly surprised.

"Oh, you _do _remember!"

That's when Sam bailed.

He ran home and into their kitchen, going straight for the salt. He poured the salt all over the house making sure he blocked all the entrances. He ignored his mother's worried call as he flew straight past her and up the stairs locking himself in the bathroom. He slumped against the door breathing heavily and staring at the mirror, where Gabriel appeared after a while eating M&Ms.

"Now you've _definitely _seen a ghost," he said and popped a candy in his mouth.

"Not a ghost," Sam shook his head, "a demon."

And then there was a lot of explaining to be done.

It was an odd story really. When Sam had been eleven-ish, he had met a girl named Ruby on some internet chat about supernatural phenomena. They had talked about spirits and ghosts and she had told him useful things about monsters that lived in the dark. There was only one problem though, when Sam couldn't see here he had no way of knowing her real nature. They'd kept talking for years, Sam had really grown to like her too and she had been very useful as a source of information for Sam's and Dean's hunts. Of course he had never told Dean about it.

In April, with Sam about to turn fourteen in a month, something happened. She started talking about meeting and at first Sam was real into it too. Then she mentioned that she would like to meet his brother too and his world stopped. He had never told her about Dean, ever. It was a small slip, but it was enough.

She told him the truth; she was a demon and she was trying to watch over him. Apparently, demons had some plan for him, but they couldn't find him because something was blocking him from sight. Later on he'd understood that it had been Gabriel's doing. She had tried to reason with him saying that she was really on his side.

The last thing she had told him before he blocked her for good was that his brother was leaving and that he would meet a girl named Jessica, who would be in danger if Sam didn't listen to her, that his whole family would be in danger if he didn't let her help him.

That spring Dean had left and when he'd met Jess during summer he'd felt like he would die. But he didn't, he still hadn't, and Jessica was safe. He'd figured after discovering the angel in his mirror that maybe it would be enough to keep them safe.

Now it turned out it wasn't.

When he was done with the story the angel looked at him gravely.

"Do not deal with that devil, no matter what."

Sam nodded.

"I'll try not to."

But of course, trying was never enough. The next months everything in Sam's life became a chaos. When he went to school, there were demons on his class. He had to start avoiding Jessica telling the girl that he was in trouble with his parents and couldn't see her and then feeling horrible about lying to her. Every day he nearly begged Gabriel to keep her safe but archangel or not the man couldn't promise it. He tried and Sam tried, but it was _Jess _and she had been the one good and normal thing in his life that he couldn't lose, no matter what.

He ended up breaking and he made the deal: one year for life-long protection of Jess and his own family, Dean included.

It was the beginning of March. He skipped school that day and went home. Upstairs, the bathroom mirror was silent. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he dug it up to see a message from his brother, the first one in almost two years.

"_Talking to the mirror, can I get any crazier?"_

He read it and smiled bitterly, typing a reply.

"_Wait till they start talking back"_

He really wished his would still do that.

-x-

Talking to strangers online is cool, kids, just try to avoid the demons.


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

If Dean had had a choice, he would've always wanted his life to be like it was at Sioux Falls. Except maybe he would've wanted his own home and a pretty wife and to be able to talk to his brother... but otherwise. It was nice and gave him a sense of normalcy he hadn't ever felt, which was... well, lopsided considering he lived with a man whose house was filled with protective amulets, wards and different kinds of weapons.

In the morning he woke up, washed his face and went downstairs where Bobby was usually making breakfast. When they had finished eating, they both went outside and started working on whatever cars needed working on. They talked about stuff if they had something to talk about, but nothing unnecessary. When there weren't things to do Bobby would tell him about his hunts or about some folk lore or anything really. Dean would send mostly useless messages to Sam but it would make him happy when his brother answered them. It definitely wasn't the picture perfect life everyone hoped to have but Dean was content.

So of course something would happen only to break the quickly set routine.

12 days after he had arrived at Bobby's he met Mr. Trench coat once more. This time though, he was in the hallway mirror. In truth Dean would've missed it and walked right past the guy if he hadn't knocked on the glass as Dean was passing by. He looked even more ruffled than usually, maybe even a bit panicked, and that made the hair on Dean's neck stand up.

"Dude, what's with the shaggy look?" Dean asked as he took two steps backwards to stand in front of the mirror. "If you're aiming to impress the ladies with some tramp act, that ain't gonna work—believe me."

The man burrowed his brows, a tick of annoyance in his look. He raised his hand and waved a little. Dean on turn raised his eyebrows.

"Come again?"

The man repeated the action and Dean realized that he was clumsily beckoning him to come closer. He stepped forward.

"I'm not sure if this is a goo—woah."

Suddenly there was a hand in front of him—a hand, a real hand, which was coming from the mirror and belonged to the trench coat man. He might've screamed if he was any lesser man, but fortunately he was Dean Winchester and Winchesters didn't scream. That was all he could think about before burning hot pain flashed through his mind like a lightning and was gone as soon as it had appeared, leaving behind a dull, fading ache that seemed to come from his lungs? Or ribs?

He breathed heavily, looking down on himself, but he wasn't missing any skin and all his clothes were intact in one piece. He turned to look at the mirror, where the man had pulled his hand safely back to the other side. Dean tried the glass, but no chance; his hands didn't slip through its surface.

"What the _hell?_" he asked and the man nodded raising his hand. This time he'd gotten the note from his pocket while Dean was wondering about what had happened.

"_Enochian sigils, they'll keep you hidden"_

Dean scoffed. "Well, thank you very much, that explained everything." The man seemed to consider his words like he didn't understand the sarcasm in them. "Hidden from _what_? And why?"

Mr. Trench coat sighed. Dean wasn't about to let it slip.

"You," he said and pointed at the man, "owe me some serious explaining."

The guy dug up another note.

"_Later"_

And then he walked away from sight, leaving Dean to curse after him.

-x-

When Bobby asked him what had happened, he wasn't sure what to say. Because really, when a man from a mirror poked you and put something painful inside you, what would you say? Fortunately, the older hunter was a genius of sorts and understood his half-assed story, more than perfectly.

"Enochian sigils, huh..." he muttered and looked absent-minded for a second. "There's somethin' I haven't heard in a while."

"So what are they?" Dean asked and duly noted that the ache most likely in his ribs had ended.

"From what I've heard, angel talk," the man explained and headed for the bookshelf. He scanned the shelves until he found what seemed to be one of the oldest and dustiest books Dean had ever seen. "Some occultists in late 16th century claimed it was "the language of Heaven" that had been revealed to them by angels. It's claimed to be a bunch of rubbish, but those sigils really hold some power."

Dean thought about it. "He said it would _hide_ me, how does that work?"

"I haven't a clue," Bobby answered gruffly. "I'm not an expert in _everything_. But we do know that it's some sort of a spell, and spells always leave mark."

The younger raised an eyebrow. "Where're you getting at?"

"I'm getting to the point that I know someone who can help you in your search for this mirror pincess." The older slapped his shoulder and walked past him to the door. "Now, you coming or not?"

Well, Dean didn't need to be asked twice.

It was a long ride to Illinois, which Dean mostly spent on the passenger's seat of Bobby's Chevelle. The reason for the trip, as Bobby finally made clear when they were on route, was an old friend of his, Pamela Barnes. She was what Bobby described as the 'best damn psychic in the state,' maybe even the best in the whole country seeing as they were driving over 500 miles to get there. From what Bobby told, her being psychic meant that she could see a lot more than the older hunter and Dean. She could see the things that were invisible even to their eyes. Now that Mr. Trench coat had left some mark on him, the thought of which made Dean itch in a weird way, Bobby was certain that Pamela could sense the trail left from it.

Dean thought about it and a lot other things as he watched the sceneries pass. He had been following the man for _years_, pretty much his whole lifetime, and now it seemed he was close to finding out... something. He would say 'the truth' but he didn't know about what and he wasn't willing to think about that, not yet. He knew his life was messed up, he had always known, but until he could finally stand face to face with the guy he hoped had some answers he wasn't willing to admit how fucked up it really was. So he was trying to avoid the subject of what he would gain from meeting him without a glass in between and concentrate on the man himself.

If he wasn't lying to himself, which happened sadly often because he was a stubborn man, he couldn't say that he hated the guy. When Sammy had told him about his dreams and the guy that used to pull tricks in them, yeah he had been pretty mad. Even still he had it in him to end that son of a bitch if he ever had the chance, because nobody except him was to mess with his little brother. But his dreams and the guy in them was essentially the same... well, not that Mr. Trench coat showed him dreams of anyone dying, but still. And he couldn't complain, not really, and with another burst of courage he could admit that the dreams had always, sort of, been precious to him. No, not precious, that was a girly or really creepy thing to say and he didn't want to compare himself to Gollum. But there was something about them that just made them seem okay, _good _even.

Maybe it was that he always felt safe around the man, he just had that feel that you could trust him. Sure, he had a creepy way of staring, but initially it came across as concern—like the guy was interested in his wellbeing. And his eyes did have nice shade of blue, not that he ever thought about it. All in all, if it turned out the guy wasn't some creepy-ass monster in reality he wouldn't mind having him around in a way where they could both talk to each other.

Other thing about the dreams was the fact that they felt like someone's memories. They felt like _his _memories. He couldn't ever properly make out where he was in the dreams, after the last time he'd seen the man in the mirror, he actually hadn't even had them (maybe Mr. Trench coat was busy?) but he knew that behind the blur there were changing sceneries, like from along a journey. One of the places he had been in his dreams had definitely been the roadhouse and another Bobby's place. Now, while travelling to Illinois, he wondered if Pamela Barnes and her house would be one of those memories too.

-x-

After a night spent in a motel, some staring in the mirror with no men appearing in them and an uneventful ride, they reached some small city with a name that Dean forgot as soon as they'd passed the sign. It took Bobby two tries to remember the correct address and the way there, but eventually they got the right street for Pamela Barnes, one psychic extraordinaire.

She turned out to be nothing like Dean had expected.

The moment Bobby had said the word 'psychic' Dean's mind had raced back to the time when he was ten years old and there had lived a nice lady named Missouri nearby. She had been a psychic to the last detail, divination, luck-telling, warding off evil spirits... she had lived alone with cats in a funnily decorated house, had been really big, worn only dresses and spoken a bit funny. Dean had visited her with Sammy, until their father had caught them one day. After that she had moved off somewhere and Dean hadn't seen her since. That was his definition of psychic.

Pamela Barnes matched the definition by zero percent. She was a woman in her late thirties or early forties with nicely cut black curls and stylish clothing, which told that she knew what was hip and happening and knew how to look her bestest. He'd heard from Bobby that when she'd been younger she'd liked to travel the world and had seen probably more than either of them would ever see. A second after they'd pulled onto her driveway she'd been by the car, dragging Bobby out into a tight hug.

"Of all the bastards I've met in my life Robert Singer, you're the worst." She laughed and smacked the man playfully on the shoulder after pulling back from the embrace. "Really now, would it kill you to call sometimes?"

It might," Bobby answered gruffly, but the tone was amused. "Sides, you know when I'm coming."

"If I didn't I could as well hang my coat." She moved from him and turned to smirk at Dean.

"Now aren't you a hunk... Dean Winchester, right? I know this and that about you..." She walked to him and let her hand fall on his lower stomach, pinching him there. "You have talent."

She winked and laughed at Dean's mildly baffled expression.

"Well, c'mon boys," she said, waving the men to follow her inside. Bobby let out a huff of affection.

"A monster, ain't she?"

"I heard that!" Pamela called out with a sing-song voice.

He shook his head, smiled and turned to follow her. Dean grinned to himself. He watched their backs and believed from his heart that if the older man ever decided to get over Karen's death, this woman would be the perfect match for him.

Just because he felt like it, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and typed a message for Sammy.

"_Gonna find out who's that man in my mirror and dreams, wish me luck"_

-x-

First though, they had tea. Not that Dean drank any, but in name. Pamela and Bobby talked about how things had been with the both of them while Dean mostly listened. After the catch up was complete it was time to get to business. She had Dean explain the whole picture to her, starting from the dreams, seeing him in the traffic lights and then the talks with the man inside the mirror. Pamela thought about it and then asked if anyone besides him had ever seen the man. He told that both Sam and Jo had been there on different occasions, but neither had seen the guy. She laughed and asked if he was sure the guy wasn't in his imagination, but it was a joke. Then she asked him to lose his shirt—that wasn't.

Shirtless and a bit unnerved Dean watched her press her nails against his chest and close her eyes with a loud exhale. After a moment the lights started flickering and he could hear Bobby shifting behind him, probably worried for Pamela's house. Her hands went rigidly cold in a second, making Dean almost jump. Then she opened her mouth and started talking.

"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me… I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me…" she chanted without ever opening her eyes. Dean watched in mild horror as something red started crawling up her fingers from his chest.

"What the…" he managed.

"It's the spell from your ribs. I have to weaken it for him to appear," Pamela snapped. "Now if you want to get this done, don't interrupt me. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me… I invoke, conjure, and _command_…"

She fell silent and her brows burrowed.

"_Castiel?_" She breathed the name out like a soft sigh. Dean repeated it, quietly not to disturb the psychic. It felt… fitting.

Her features sharpened again. "No, sorry Castiel, I don't—"

Her words were cut off with a short, alarmed yell that had Bobby by her side in half a second.

Then she opened her eyes, and once again it was one of those moments when Dean could've shouted out. Her eyes were pure white and her expression looked puzzled and like it didn't belong on her face. The reason for that was evident in a moment.

"Dean," she said, except it was not _her _speaking. It was her voice, but much lower and so different that there could be no doubt about it. "Turn back, make her turn back or she'll be hurt."

Dean stared at her wide eyed, not knowing what to do.

"Step," she shouted with that odd commanding voice, "away!"

So he did. He took three staggering steps backwards to be sure. The moment her nails were forced away from his skin the red sigils flooded back into him through his skin. Her knees buckled under her and Pamela fell forward, clearly unconscious. Bobby caught her before she touched the ground, carrying her over to the couch to lie her down. Dean stood there trembling just a little, but more exhausted than scared or shocked.

"Well…" Dean said after a while. "That went better than expected."

Bobby grunted. "How _low _were your expectations?"

Dean grinned and wobbled over to one of the armchairs, slumping down and feeling sleep tug on him.

"I guess we're on first name basis now, huh?" He murmured before closing his eyes.

Pamela and Dean slept for a little over five hours, the man stirring awake first. His neck hurt from the position he'd slept in and he groaned, alerting Bobby from the kitchen. The old hunter was relieved to see it was only him waking up. Fifteen minutes after that it was Pamela's turn. Immediately upon waking she began cussing about Dean's 'mirror men and the stunts they pulled' but she laughed when Dean gave her a peppermint from his pocket as a peace offering. Bobby brought her some Indian tea and she considerably calmed down. Dean searched for his shirt, before Bobby offered it to him and he pulled it on.

They had a talk about Castiel, where it turned out that Pamela hadn't even seen the man, nor had he heard more about him than his name and the warnings to stop. Dean and Bobby both agreed that it was good they had stopped her before going too far, but she waved it off saying that she always had been a Gryffindor; too brave for her own good.

So they still had no idea what Castiel was but Dean was secretly happy that he didn't have to refer to the man as Mr. Trench coat anymore. That nickname had been getting old anyway, _Cas_ was much better.

"Now that we know his name, there's somethin' we can do," Bobby said after Dean wondered aloud what he should do next on his quest for Castiel's identity. "We can try summoning him."

Pamela smiled into his cup. "You better do that without me, I haven't the energy for this guy anymore."

-x-

So they said good bye to the psychic, Bobby promising to call her more often, and headed back towards South-Dakota. This time they didn't stop on the way, with Dean well-rested and behind the wheel. When they got back to Sioux Falls they did some research on summoning rituals and decided that they would try it the next day. Dean was restless for the night and the restlessness carried onto the next day. He had Bobby snapping at him as he set some of the symbols for one of the many rituals they'd dug up from Bobby's books.

"You gonna do this right or should I call it quits?" Bobby asked him gravely after he'd gotten something wrong, again.

Luckily he didn't have to answer that, as his cell decided to beep into life that exact moment. Dean shuffled his pockets for it and answered, without checking the caller, thinking it was either Jo or Ash, as no one else called him.

"Hey," he said. "I'm a bit busy now, so…"

"_Dean, its Sam"_

He was shocked into silence.

"_Yeah, it is me. And I know what you're doing right now, you're trying to summon Castiel, right?"_

Now _that, _made Dean talk.

"Woah, wait, slow down!" He couldn't help his voice growing louder. "How the_ hell _do you know that? And about Cas? Didn't occur to you to tell me sooner if you knew something?"

There was a short sigh from the line and what sounded like two men bickering on the background.

"_I swear I didn't know. If I had known this sooner I would've told you, but Gabe hasn't been really helpful until now… No you're not."_

The last sentence was clearly meant for someone else than Dean.

"_Look Dean, I'm sorry. I think I should've told you sooner, but we weren't talking and in my defense you haven't been telling me much either."_

It made something inside Dean break.

"It doesn't matter, Sammy, you're a dick and I'm a bigger dick, but we're brothers…" He smiled to the phone. "We got to forgive each other sometime, right?"

"_You're right." _

It sounded like Sam was smiling too. Dean cleared his throat, because that was already more girl-talk than he was comfortable with.

"So who's Gabe?" He asked tying to get back to topic.

"_He's uh, he's the trickster."_

Dean's face fell. "He's what? Sam, how could—"

"_He's not actually a trickster though, so stop it before you even start. And he's kind of cool when you get to know him."_

Something that sounded suspiciously like _"Hell yeah I am" _could be heard from the background.

"_But it's not important. I promise to tell you the whole story, when we get there."_

"You're coming here?"

"_Yeah, but you have to stop trying to summon Castiel. Gabe says it'll cause way more unnecessary attention than we can afford."_

"What are you talking about? What attention? And really, who is this guy?"

Sam seemed to cough.

"_He's uh… he's an angel. You know, Gabriel? He's Castiel's brother."_

Dean looked at Bobby, who had sat down to read one of the books they had been working with.

"That's bullshit, angels don't exist."

"_Yeah, I wish… but it seems they do and they're not all that nice and, apparently, they want you and me. Actually just you. And the demons want you and me."_

His head was starting to hurt like a bitch. "How come I never knew about this?"

"_That's… It's best if you go find Castiel, right now. He'll have answers. Gabriel says he's in Denver, don't ask why."_

"What, hey—"

"_Please Dean… just trust me."_

It had always been about that. Seconds passed. Dean bit his lips.

"Yeah, I trust you Sammy."

-x-

Look! We're getting where we started from! Hooray!


	6. Interlude 3

**Interlude 3**

It took close to two weeks, but Gabriel did come back—in a way Sam hadn't thought possible. Jessica was over at his house and they were lazing around supposedly doing homework when the door bell rang. His mother was visiting a friend, John was still at work and he wasn't expecting any guests so he figured it would be some door-to-door salesman or the kind. Instead, when he opened the door with Jess somewhere behind him he found himself face to face with an angel with golden brown eyes and a smirk.

What else could Sam do but gape?

"You should watch how you greet people kiddo, somebody might get offended by that look," Gabriel said merrily and brushed past him with hands in his pockets, like nothing was out of the ordinary. Then he laid his eyes on Jessica, who was even more confused by the situation than Sam, and his face lit up. "Ooh, are _you_ his girlfriend? Sam, Sam…"

"Um…" Jess tilted her head. "Who're you?"

Sam shoved Gabriel, noticing that he was actually taller than the man, which was odd because when he'd been in the mirror, they'd always been the same height.

"I'm sorry, he doesn't have manners," Sam gritted through his teeth pushing Gabriel towards the stairs. "Gabriel… please go wait upstairs."

"I only want to be her friend!" The angel cried out but Sam ignored him.

"_Please._"

And Gabriel followed the order, not wanting to be the one to test Sam Winchester's patience.

After that he had to explain Jessica who the man was and though he felt horrible about lying to her the truth would've been even worse. She left under the impression that Gabriel was his older cousin who was in all sorts of trouble and would only visit on a whim. Probably she thought it odd but didn't question the explanation and just nodded when he told her that she should leave. While closing the door she smiled and said that she would see him the next day. She wouldn't, but by then Sam didn't yet know it.

When Sam climbed up he found Gabriel in his room admiring the bookshelf. He slumped against the door and sighed, somehow relieved by the sight.

"I thought you were gone for good," he said quietly, mostly to himself, but the man heard him.

"I would leave you to rot in Hell? No chance." Gabriel grinned but it was soft, almost caring. "I got my orders to keep you safe, and I _will _keep you safe—archangel's honor."

He struck a pose and Sam smiled.

"How?"

The angel snapped his fingers.

While he'd been away Gabriel had done a lot of things, like talked to his brother and made life-changing decisions for himself, but most importantly he'd been tracking down the contract Sam had made. And all that tracking down had led him to the mother of all cross-roads, a bad pun, but he really liked it. After that, all there was left to do was to go get Sam and crash the party—and that's exactly what he did.

"So the guy in this mansion," Sam asked once Gabriel was done with his vague explanation.

"He's the king off cross-roads, if you want, the demon who's in charge of most of the deals ever made." The angel opened the gate with far too much amusement considering that he'd just triggered some alert and they'd probably get a pretty welcome. "If he doesn't hold your deal, he'll at least know where it is… and that's something I can get out of him. Right?"

They walked inside with surprisingly no hindrance save for some growling, which Gabriel told to be a hell hound chained somewhere at the far end of the yard. It made Sam vary at first, but as the archangel didn't seem to mind he let himself relax a bit.

The mansion itself was very nice on the inside. It was just as beautiful as the outside, if not more, with fine décor from all over the globe as Gabriel noted. The walls held portraits, some that Sam recognized from history lessons or countless hours spent in the library, other paintings, scrolls, bookshelves full of ancient texts and small things, like bowls full of sea shells. On the floor there were fine Persian rugs and the floor itself was marble. The young Winchester followed in the angel's footsteps taking in the rooms they passed like one new miniature world at a time. Finally after what seemed like a really long time they reached the room at the very end of the mansion; the study. And in the study, as refined and decorated in good taste as the rest of the rooms, awaited the king of the cross roads.

"About bloody time you came," the demon drawled—his accent thick and rich and British—and turned around. "I nearly died of old age waiting for you."

"Really?" Gabriel asked merrily and snapped himself a lollipop. "That would've been a shame."

He waggled his eyebrows. The demon seemed unfazed, smiling at the angel in his study. Sam just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

The man was… well slightly taller than Gabriel, but not that tall. His eyes were wrinkled and he looked to be in his thirties or early forties, but was undeniably centuries old—he had that air about him. He wore a black suit and a smile that was made to please and warn you at the same. Warn that this man could kill you in a heart-beat if he wished to.

Still he didn't seem all that evil, not at the first look, but you couldn't trust those when it came to demons. And what surprised Sam was that he couldn't see the demon's true face shining behind the human skin's façade, not like he had seen Ruby's or the other demons'.

"I do not wish to die though, not really," the demon said, conversationally. "You're Gabriel, am I correct?"

Sam's angel guardian popped his lolly out of his mouth and grinned. "You _have_ heard of me! I'm honored."

"And this lad with you is… Sam Winchester." His face went grim ad Sam burrowed his brows. "How delightful. The name's Crowley, just so you know. And with the necessary hustle of introductions out of the way, it's time for business." He smiled at Gabriel. "Shall we?"

The angel pointed him with the candy and hopped on his oak-wood desk. "I'd like to hear your end of the bargain first, 'cause you seem to know exactly what we want. I just can't see… what could you make out of this mess?"

Crowley gave him a pointed look and Sam promptly realized that there was something big here that he didn't know about.

"Oh for instance, how about I want to save my own arse?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Well, it _is_ nice I suppose…"

Crowley snorted.

"Hold up," Sam said finally butting in. "What does my soul have to do with any of that?"

Gabriel looked at him like he was… sad, regretful. Like he didn't want to tell him but he had no choice. Crowley seemed to think of him as something on the level of a cockroach, judging from his look.

"Only that it could start or stop the apocalypse."

And for the second time in his life Sam felt as if the whole of existence was holding its breath while he caught up. And he did with a crash.

"I'm sorry Sam," Gabriel said, while Sam slumped down on a comfy armchair without really noticing it himself. "I never thought I'd say that, but I really am."

In the end, it didn't take Gabriel that long to explain the story he'd held from Sam for so long. Since the beginning of times the angels had known the names of the two brothers who would start the apocalypse: Sam and Dean Winchester. The knowledge of this hadn't much bothered Gabriel's life until one day when one tousled trench coat wearing brother of his had popped out of the blue onto his way. The archangel had spent hundreds of years walking the Earth ('because of personal reasons', he said promising to explain it better some day) and nobody had found him, it had been _impossible_ to find him, and yet Castiel had succeeded.

That had been the 26th of January 1979, two days after Dean's birth.

Gabriel said that Castiel would have to explain it better, but apparently the younger angel had convinced him that they had to stop the apocalypse and that they had to protect the brothers at all costs, and so they had. Castiel, whom Sam realized to be the "trench coat-man" Dean had mentioned right before leaving, had watched over the older Winchester brother while Sam had been left to Gabriel's care. The ultimate goal for them had been to keep the two human brothers hidden from demons and angels alike because they we're "hot stuff" in both wagons, like Gabriel explained.

"Now that didn't go too well, did it?" the angel joked but there was slight bitterness behind his smile.

"Don't say that, Gabe. It wasn't your fault." Sam cast his eyes down, dimly realizing he'd just given the man a nickname. Huh, they were pretty close.

"Damn straight, it wasn't," Gabriel said. "But I was still too careless, didn't think about the demons actually targeting you before Dean."

Sam was puzzled and so the story continued.

"You see, Dean's the righteous man—though personally, I always thought he was a moron," Gabriel grinned while Sam threw him a dirty look. "He has to go to Hell and break the first seal that's binding Lucifer to his prison, _"as he breaks, so shall it break"_ and all that jazz."

Gabriel made air-quotation marks and Sam had to smile despite the situation. By then, Crowley had grown bored of the narrative and gone to pour himself a shot of whiskey.

"But yeah, that's all for Dean-o." Gabriel turned to Crowley then. "I gotta hand it to you; you're a bunch of clever bastards, using Sam's soul as bait… I figured it was that."

The demon sipped his drink calmly. "My, you're flattering me… I'm almost turning pink."

"You're the—" Sam started to say, voice accusing, but Gabriel didn't let him finish.

"So where is it?" he asked, tone gone serious. "You ought to know if you came up with the plan."

Crowley placed his glass on the desk, moving behind it to open some drawer. "Of course I know and I think you should've guessed it by now, angel-boy. Lilith holds the contract."

"Of course," Gabriel said, uncharacteristically grim.

Sam would've asked many things, but right then something happened. The angel turned around like his tail was on fire and promptly disappeared, a faint flutter of wings in his leave. Crowley made a sound like he was slightly surprised. Sam stared.

"Hey moose," Crowley called out, finally seeming to find what he had been searching for from the drawers. "You'd better hold onto this."

He handed Sam a gun and at that moment, Gabriel was suddenly back.

"Call your brother, kiddo," Gabriel said immediately after landing and noticing the revolver added: "Where'd you get that?"

"Business," Crowley replied with a sly smile.

"I'll have to think about my career choices," Gabriel muttered.

Sam ended up calling Dean after a short explanation from Gabriel. It was an interesting experience trying to tell your brother who you hadn't talked to in two years that he should stop summoning an angel, while one archangel and a demon were bickering about something at the same time in the same room. It went okay, though, and when he pressed 'end call' he felt better than in a long while.

He was going to see his brother after all.

-x-

I love Crowley, but he's a pain to write... Oh well, I hope I did okay.


	7. Chapter 4 part 1

**Chapter 4.1**

After ending the phone call Dean had shortly explained the situation to Bobby and gotten in his car. He drove eight hours straight going well over the speed limits, but when he was on that field and finally talking to the man he'd known since forever (without really knowing anything about him) he thought it was worth it.

Dean stepped back, staring into a pair of baby blue eyes. Yes damnit, he had thought about it, just a little, and the conclusion had been baby blue. No, he wasn't only thinking they were _baby_ blue because he was always a bit intimidated by the man's intense gaze and just the word baby mellowed that effect considerably. Okay, maybe he was, just a little. If he was Sam he would've let out a high pitched laugh right then-that was what Sam did always did when he was stressed.

"Sorry Chap, but..."

"Dean," the man dead-panned, looking like he'd heard it a million times. "I've heard enough of this in another lifetime. Please stick to the point."

"In another—" Dean cut himself off. There were things that needed to be cleared first, before forcing the whole story or picture or whatever out of the guy. "You're Castiel, right?"

"Yes," the man said, again so slowly. "I am Castiel."

"Then what are you? Some Voldemort fan? My scar isn't itching, so you know."

"You know what I am. I'm an angel of the Lord." That by itself wasn't enough to surprise Dean, but what he said next was. "And you are not Harry Potter."

After a definitely-not-embarrassed cough, Dean was back in the game. "Angels, right...I didn't believe that the first time. Why are you creeping around my dreams? Why make me follow you? And why are you always waving at me from mirror-world, I'm not Alice either!"

Castiel seemed slightly amused—if you could call one corner of his mouth twitching up 'amused'. "I was keeping you safe, a priority that I even now must attend to. Do you have somewhere safe we can talk?"

"Uh, sure, but it's kinda far..."

"No matter, we shall talk there," he brushed past Dean and started walking towards the Impala. "I assume you won't leave without your car?"

"What do you mean, how else would I get there?" Dean received no answer. When they were right by his baby the man pressed his palm on the cars side and turned to look up. "Cas?"

This time, he was sure of the small smile he saw.

"I remember that," Castiel said and grabbed his arm.

-x-

Dean though, did not remember to bend his knees, which left him with wobbly legs that almost gave under him as soon as he felt ground beneath them again. He took a staggering step forward, trying to decipher what had happened, when he realized that he wasn't on the field anymore. Nowhere _near _the field, or even Denver for that part, because he was standing right on the yard of Bobby's garage. He turned to Castiel, eyes wide and accusing.

"What the—"

The angel seemed to have a trend of cutting through his sentences, and he failed to break it.

"It was the best method of transport given the situation," he said, nodding towards the Impala, neatly parked to their right. "I took special care not to harm her."

Just like that he had the words taken from him, fair and square, and he didn't know what was more baffling. The fact, that the man had just referred to his baby with a proper pronoun, or that he almost felt like… like something. He couldn't quite place it, but it didn't matter for the time being. He gave a shaky smile.

"Thanks, man." He patted Castiel's shoulder and the man's blue eyes seemed to waver, like smiling.

The guy was trying to be nice, maybe it was payback for haunting his mind or whatever—Dean didn't particularly care about the whys behind it. What mattered to him, was that the man made him feel safe, had always made him feel safe, and it helped that he wasn't a complete douche now that he could reach out and touch him if he wanted. Not that he wanted…except he'd just patted his shoulder. It had been subconscious, but the thought behind it lingered in his mind: _this is real. _Suddenly he had the urge to turn away or shake his head until it was free of such thoughts. Instead he cleared his throat and tried to look a bit more intimidating.

"But don't pull stunts like that again, okay?" He gave Cas a stern look, while the man seemed to consider his words. "Or at least ring a bell or something."

"Perhaps I should warn you the next time," the angel said, and if Dean's ears didn't lie, there was an amused sound to his words.

He didn't have much time to dwell on that thought for long though, as right then he noticed Sammyon the porch. The two brothers stared at each other for one, two, three, four seconds before the younger almost _flew _down the few steps and Dean met him with a nearly bone crushing hug. There weren't any words—they were Winchesters to the core, after all. That didn't mean that the moment wasn't important, because _nothing_ in the world was as important. Actually, in the older brother's opinion, the world could go screw itself.

"Dude, you've grown," he said into Sam's shoulder and the younger laughed, almost the same like he had been and still different.

"I'll grow taller than you," Sam threatened and Dean snorted.

"Keep dreaming."

Everything had changed, because that is the nature of the world, but at the same time things weren't all that different. They were still two brothers, both a bit stupid but growing up and learning from their mistakes. They would still irritate each other and fight like all hell let loose, but for now it was alright because even that wouldn't change how much they mattered to each other.

Castiel walked past them to greet his own brother, smiling softly. In all truth, he wasn't protecting the world at all but rather these two boys.

-x-

The angel of all Thursdays began his story when the six men present (though nobody quite understood why Crowley had tagged along) were seated nicely in Bobby's living room. "Nice" being as far from their current arrangement as Australia was from Finland. Dean and Gabriel immediately upon meeting started expressing their mutual dislike for each other. Crowley made chit-chat with Bobby while the hunter felt vaguely uncomfortable and Sam wondered how he'd gotten himself into the situation. Luckily, Castiel wasn't easily distracted.

It had begun around the time of Dean's birth, like Gabriel had already explained to Sam. By Castiel's own words, he had experienced something akin to waking up while you were sleepwalking. What it meant, was that very suddenly he was aware of a future he had lived already like in a dream. And in that dream he'd been with Dean and Sam Winchester, who were different from the Sam and Dean now sitting on the couch, and helped them stop the apocalypse but not without so much suffering that the ghost-pain of it had made him cry when he'd first felt it.

"So you mean," Dean interrupted at this point of Castiel's tale. "That you had a… vision, or what the fuck ever, where everything went bat-shit insane? How's that make you sad?"

"Because I am connected to your soul."

Everyone in the room went very silent, except for Gabrielwho whistled inappropriately and was elbowed in the ribs by Sam. It only resulted in bruising his elbow though. Castiel looked like he would sigh, but didn't, and went on.

"The moment you were born, the sorrow your soul carried reached out for me. I assume that the events I was able to foresee and thus prevent from happening, was how our lives turned out in a different future."

"In English, you're asking?" Gabriel butted in, grinning. "Little bro here believes that though in the 'dream' he'd almost lost faith, our Old man decided to provide him with a second chance. Basically, we're all living our lives again."

Castiel nodded. "In that future, Gabriel would've died. Nobody had seen him before that for nearly a millennium, but counting on him hiding in the same way he had done in the dream, I managed to trace him."

The archangel shrugged. "Well, what can I say... being dead would be boring."

"I hear you on that," noted Crowley.

Castiel continued by explaining Dean their parts in starting the apocalypse, which eventually led to the revelation that Sam had made a deal with a demon, which led to dean throwing a fit, which led to Bobby throwing the two Winchester's out of his house to cool off. They did, after some ten minutes and a conversation on it being the stupidest thing Sam could've ever done that ended with Sam agreeing to introduce Jessica to Dean.

"So," Sam started when they were back inside. "What do we do now?"

"You're the one who went and lost your soul, moose, maybe you should tell," Crowley barked, countering Sam's glare with a satisfied smirk.

"Let's not point fingers, okay kids?" Gabriel held his hands up, but was visibly amused by the demon. "We just have to get Sam's soul back, _without _anyone exchanging their own soul for it."

His pointed look was targeted to Dean, who scoffed.

"Well, smart-pants, any ideas how do we do that?"

"It's not like ye can just ask nicely," Bobby commented, and Dean nodded.

"Maybe we can bribe them?" Gabriel waggled his eyebrows.

Crowley cleverly disguised his laugh as a cough.

"We'll have to kill Lilith," Castiel said and managed to catch everyone's attention. "She's the final seal, but if we kill her before the first seal is broken, there will be no means to break Lucifer's cage."

"And the contract will break," the demon said drily. "There is just one tiny problem, angel boy: you won't bloody find her, if she doesn't want to be found."

"I won't."

Everyone looked at Castiel expectantly.

"But I know someone who will."

-x-

The second time Dean was angel-zapped from place A to B he was more used to it and didn't wobble too badly when he needed to start walking again. He and Cas were… somewhere. Dean had no idea of their exact location, except that it was supposedly some prophet's lawn. The house he was staring at was the home of a freaking _prophet. _Dean could barely grasp how weird his life had turned in the past 48 hours—and it had been damn weird before. The only constant thing his life was Castiel, no matter how strange that sounded. If he put his pride aside he could say he was grateful for the man's trench coat clad presence.

After Cas had informed them about this Chuck dude, who would most likely be aware of Lilith's whereabouts, they had formed a battle plan of sorts. Though calling it a battle plan was 'rubbish' as Crowley put it, because there was no fighting whatsoever and it was kind of lame. Gabriel needed to stay put, because for him going near the prophet right now, meant walking 'naked into heaven'. Sam stayed with the archangel, digging up any info from Bobby's library and Crowley hadn't felt very inclined to do much from the start, so the demon just… stayed where he was.

On the other hand Dean and the badly dressed angel would go and greet the prophet almighty and try to make the location of Lilith clear. Possibly, they'd need to ask him to come along too. Dean could already guess how well that would go.

"So," Dean started, turning to the angel. "What do we do? March in proclaiming the FBI's arrived? I'd make a mean Dale Cooper, y'know."

"What _you _do, Dean," Castiel said, all serious and completely ignoring Dean's comment. "I cannot come inside, not yet, and even later it is risky. You must convince the prophet that we do not wish any harm upon him."

"How d'ya expect me to do that? You said he's having visions of us, but doesn't know who he is—what do you think he'll do when I show up on his doorstep? Invite me in for tea?"

A very small smile twitched on the angel's lips. "I think you will have to work your charm, as they say."

"Oh c'mon…" Dean couldn't help smiling.

Cas nodded once.

"Good luck."

With that, he was left alone on the yard with no clue how to work his fingers around the situation. He shrugged and being a man of practice, started towards the door. After all, for all that had been fucked up in his life, maybe just this once things would go smoothly.

-x-

I had some trouble with this chapter, so... I split it. Also there'll be a short "pause" in between, so you can expect that quite soon.


	8. Pause

**Pause**

Chuck Shurley felt like he was very ordinary in every way; he had always been. He was the only child of a single mother who worked a lot. He went to school, got average grades, made a few friends and never stood out from the crowd. He loved writing ever since he was a small kid, but he never expected to succeed in it so much that he'd get recognized.

But as all good ideas tend to do, he was struck down by one when he was sixteen. Literally struck down, as he actually blacked out and when he woke up he had a terrible headache and his head was full of a story he needed to write.

In a way, he was glad for the migraine—it always seemed to give him some new idea about the story.

By some miracle he managed to get a post as a columnist in the local paper and he was pretty happy with his life. He didn't need to publish the books, which he at that point had many, but is colleagues were relentless after they heard about them. After a few months of pushing, he tried sending the script for the first book to a publisher and somehow ended up being the author of a new series, that became a huge hit in the town, but had only a few followers elsewhere.

So his life was good, he had a steady job, he was doing the thing he enjoyed and working the books under a penname secured his privacy, which he was quite fond of. Love was the only thing missing in his life, like it had been since the girlfriend he'd had in high school who'd ended up breaking his heart. And maybe he was a huge sap, but he thought that falling in love, really falling in love, should be big.

In the end, though, it took very little; a ring of his doorbell. He opened the door in his morning coat.

"Mr. Edlund?"

It was a petite blonde woman, with lost eyes and a dazzling smile that wasn't pretty like a film star's, but she really meant it.

"Hi, I'm Rebecca Rosen from the university's paper. I sent you a message?" Her voice was slightly breathless and she spoke really fast. When he nodded dumbly she flushed pink. "Gosh, I'm a fan of yours… I can't help feeling excited. There's so much I wanna ask you Mr. Edlund."

"Chuck," he choked out and the blushed a little himself. "Please, call me Chuck. Carver Edlund is just a pen name. My real name is Chuck Shurley… kinda lame, right?"

Her eyes widened and then she flashed him a smile that left his knees feeling weak.

"Chuck," she whispered like she was testing the name. "I'm Becky then."

He let out a shaky breath.

"Hi Becky."

She laughed and he smiled nervously and just like that they were in love.

Becky and he fit together like… like nothing he could describe. It was like magic, really. And at that point, meeting the woman of his dreams wasn't the only magical thing in his life. Because some months after he met some other people from his dreams who he rather wished he wouldn't have ever met. In all fairness though, he had warning.

It was hard to catch a prophet off guard.

-x-

While I still remember, a big thanks to all you people reading this story. My life's a bit stressful at the moment, so whenever I check my email and somebody has put this story on alert or in favorites or reviewed it really makes my day. Thank you, don't forget that you are great!


	9. Chapter 4 part 2

**Chapter 4.2**

After the knock it took about twenty seconds for a kinda small bearded man, in what looked like his pajamas, to open the door. The guy looked like he'd slept about ten hours in his life and might've trembled a bit. Dean wasn't very convinced he was at the right house.

"You're Chuck Shurley, right?" he asked, trying to look the man up and down and see what was so divine about him. He came up with nothing; the dude looked like a drunk.

"Yeah… that's me," Chuck answered with a nervous voice. "Um, who might you be?"

"I'm Dean," the hunter said. "I was told you might know me?"

The man's brows burrowed and he looked slightly uncomfortable

"You're a fan, alright. Uh, I don't know how you got my address… I do appreciate your enthusiasm. Maybe we should chat some—"

"Dude," Dean gripped the door handle, forcing it open again. "I don't know what you do, or how much you know about me and how, but I_ am_ Dean Winchester. I have a brother named Sam and two babysitter angels and we would all really appreciate your help."

Chuck looked at Dean, eyes blown wide. Dean looked at Chuck, as serious as only he could be. The smaller man swallowed.

"I guess you could come in?"

The house from the inside was messy, but with that touch that told there had been a woman there recently, cleaning it up from the mess it had been. Chuck led him through the living room to what seemed like a study of sorts, as much as Dean could judge from the desk that was barely visible underneath huge piles of paper. It also had a liqueur cabinet, much to his amusement. The guy went to pour himself a rather large shot of whiskey—maybe he'd been right about the guy's drinking habits.

He gulped the drink down, setting the glass on the desk, and turned to Dean, blinking when he saw the man in his workroom. "So uh… you're real."

Dean smiled a humorless smile. "Yup."

"You're not a hallucination?"

"Nope"

"Well, there's only one explanation," the man's eyes seemed to widen. "Obviously I'm a god."

"Hate to break it to you but, no again." Before Chuck could continue he added: "You're a prophet of his, though."

Dean explained the situation, or more like filled in the minor details about it, seeing as Chuck already knew everything. It resulted in Chuck going on a roll about his latest chapter being so "Vonnegut" and him almost having a nervous break-down, while Dean wondered what he would do. Luckily, Castiel chose that moment to interfere and what more, he didn't get smoked away.

"Chuck," the angel started in his usual serious way after the two humans were seated, Chuck with a new glass of some alcohol Dean couldn't recognize. "You really are a prophet of the Lord, you've seen it yourself already."

"He knew?" Dean asked, addressing the question half to Castiel, half to the man next to him on the couch.

Chuck seemed to shudder. "I might've… but it was way too preposterous. I mean, writing yourself in is one thing, but as a prophet? That's like—"

He didn't have a chance to finish, as Castiel cut through.

"Then you must know about Lilith too. Please, Chuck." He gave the man the pleading eye look. Dean had noticed the angel giving that look anytime he wanted to silence someone, or to ask for something. It made him look like a big huggable dog. "We sincerely need your help. We have to stop the apocalypse and for that, you must tell us where we'll find her. You must come along."

"But I…"

Dean butted in. "C'mon man, this isn't just about me and my brother, it's about the world. You know what's happening and you're already a part of it. You can't just sit and watch from the sidelines as it unfurls!"

"You know our plan," Castiel said. "Come with us. Help us take out Lilith."

"Lilith?" The new-found prophet almost choked. "Are you crazy, I know what she's capable of, I—"

"She isn't a threat to us; we have Gabriel on our side. We only need to find out where she's hiding and when. We need your power to predict her moves, so that we will have the opportunity to strike."

"But I'm just a writer…"

"This isn't a story anymore," Dean dead-panned. "This is real."

Chuck shook his head, panic visible in his eyes. "No way… No, no, no… I can't…"

"Chuck," the angel breathed with a soothing voice. "Please."

At that moment, somebody opened the front door. Becky Rosen walked in; excited at first, but her expression fell a little when he noticed the two extra people in the living room. She looked at Chuck, puzzled, and Chuck looked at her, something inside him clicking to place.

"Who are you guys?" She asked Castiel and Dean with an intrigued smile. The human cleared his throat ready to tell her something she wanted to hear. He was used to lying about his identity.

"We're—"

"They're Dean and Castiel," Chuck said. "The _real_ Dean and Castiel."

Becky's eyes widened.

"Oh my gosh…" she whispered. "I knew it! I knew you were real! Though I would've preferred to meet Sam first, he's my favorite."

"Uh, okay?" Dean wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, or how he should've felt about the woman's outburst. Castiel looked even more baffled. It was almost cu—damnit, he was not going to finish that thought.

She went on about how much she loved the series and had know from the first moment that it had to be happening somewhere and that Chuck was some sort of a powerful psychic, channeling their thoughts and all that. Also, she explained very thoroughly why she loved Sam (but not as much as Chuck) to Dean, leaving the older Winchester vaguely uncomfortable.

Chuck sighed and looked rather determined. "Becky."

She immediately snapped to attention at that. "Yes?"

"I have to go with these guys for a while… I don't know how long it will be, but I have to do my part."

"Oh! Of course, I totally understand!" Becky looked like she was about to start crying. "You're so brave and selfless…"

Dean almost snorted at that, but figured it would be unwise especially at Castiel's pointed look. Did the angel read his thoughts, or what?

"Just don't overdo it, alright?" She brushed his cheek tenderly. "Don't act like Spock, I want you to return home safe."

Chuck swallowed shakily.

"I'll try."

-x-

After heading back to Bobby's house there was a lot of hassle. It seemed that Chuck, Gabriel and Crowley couldn't fit themselves in the same room, mainly because as the angel brothers explained, prophets were under the protection of arch angels and they didn't want any of Gabe's colleagues popping down. They somehow managed to solve the problem with lots of protective sigils and alcohol for Chuck, to calm his nerves.

When this ordeal was finished they sat down to discuss the game plan, or the lack of thereof. Chuck did know where Lilith would be, much to his horror now that he realized that there actually _was_ a Lilith in a hospital somewhere, eating babies. He needed a shot during this part. After getting the location out, Dean was very determined to get on the road and Gabriel volunteered to snap them there right away, but the more rational people of their group (read: Sam and Cas) refused. It was decided, with much arguing and one wrestle match that they would head out the next morning. Working in pairs, they would try to capture one of Lilith's subordinates to find the demon's exact hiding place, where they would, well, kill her. It was simple and clean.

Once they had settled the next day's actions they all went off to do whatever. For ten minutes Dean watched Sam bicker with Crowley and Gabriel while Bobby went to prepare dinner, with the help of Castiel and Chuck. They all ate, even those who really didn't need to, and afterwards the older Winchester brother headed outside. Castiel found him leaning against the Impala, staring at the sky.

"Dean…"

There was a wordless moment when the angel settled next to him, brushing against his side. Dean's lips quirked, but he wasn't sure himself did he mean to frown or smile.

"Dude, personal space—ever heard?"

Castiel hummed slightly. Neither made the effort to move.

"What were you thinking?" the angel asked.

"Nothing much…" Dean grumbled.

"That's a lie."

"That's how you become the president."

Castiel burrowed his brows. Dean grinned and they were silent for a while, as the evening breeze tickled their cheeks.

"When I was with the Harvelles I thought that 'this is my life,' but now it's just so… messed up." Dean started silently. "If we get that bitch killed, if we fail, I just don't know, man. My life will be different and I can't tell how."

Castiel looked thoughtful.

"If we fail, your brother will go to Hell," he said.

"I know."

"And if we succeed I can't promise that your life will be normal, but I hope it will be… better."

Castiel's voice was honest, like he truly from the bottom of his heart hoped that things would be fine, like he really, really wished it for Dean, only because it was _Dean._ The human shuddered.

"I'm not sure my life will ever be normal," Dean muttered. "But it could be the closest to a happily-ever-after we can get."

"We?"

They shared an equally unsure look. Dean was the first to turn away, of course.

"What will you even do when this is over? Go back to Heaven?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"I cannot return, especially not if our plan works."

"Then what?"

"I was…" Castiel trailed off and waited to catch Dean's eyes. "I was going to stay with you."

The Winchester was sure his brain was going to explode from all this pansy-talk, but he couldn't really walk away anymore.

"Why?"

"I've been watching over you since you were born."

"Yeah, that's not creepy at all…"

"You're admirable."

"That's new."

"I love you."

"I—what?"

The night was cool, cold even. The sound of cars could be heard from somewhere further off, but the yard of Bobby's garage was silent. Dean stared at the angel, mouth slightly agape. Castiel was smiling that small smile of his, like he quite often did when he was looking at Dean, like the man realized right then. He also realized a thousand other things.

Cas had been the meaning of his life, maybe he still was, he couldn't imagine living in a world without him. And if he really strained his boundaries he could maybe admit that he sort of loved the man in a strange way, but he wasn't gay. Then again, Cas wasn't a man—angels were genderless, weren't they? Anyway, the angel looked really good with his eyes round and open and that soft expression. Maybe Dean had turned into a woman when he hadn't noticed. That would explain a lot. It was disturbing though... as much as he loved women he didn't want to be one, thank you very much. But Cas wasn't a woman, he was an angel. Angels were different from women, but they must've been different from men too, because he sure as hell didn't like men.

At this point, he felt like he was going in circles.

"But… I mean…" Dean swallowed. "Isn't that forbidden or something?"

He asked it just to say something. Castiel nodded.

"It is," he said, "but honestly, I do not care."

It was two minutes to ten, and a moment when time stopped.

It started again quite abruptly when the Winchester pushed forward, crushing his lips against the angel's—literally crushing, because it hurt and even that couldn't stop him.

"Hell Cas," he managed to say leaning away to breath. "You've always just been there, taking care of me..."

Between kisses, soft and brief, or long and bruising, he continued.

"You've never asked for anything."

Castiel brought his hands together at the small of Dean's back, pulling him closer, tighter, warmer.

"Now I am," he said, throwing his head back as Dean trailed kisses along his jaw and neck. "We can have a happy ending this time."

"Yeah," Dean breathed against the angel's pulse point. "I hope so."

-x-

Raise your hand if love Spock like Becky does! Well, I do.

And if _my_ Spock is reading this, I hope you know I love you. I couldn't have written this fic without your support. Thank you.


	10. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next morning came by too soon and Dean woke up on the chilly backseat of his Baby. After his brain caught up with the rest of his body he had to grin. Wouldn't you smile too, if your first thought after waking up was 'I just slept with an angel'? Yeah, I bet you would. Castiel was roused from his sleep, not that he would've needed to sleep in the first place, by Dean's musing.

"You're thinking loud," he said, holding his eyes closed. Dean had to admit that while Cas definitely wasn't a woman, somehow he looked better. "But it's good, we should get up."

The human was about to protest, but there was loud banging against the roof, that instantly sobered him. Nobody dared to touch his car like that, _nobody._

"Get a move on, you lovebirds!" His brother scooped to taunt him from the window, much too merrily.

"Sonofa—Sammy!" Dean yelled, yanking his pants on and tumbling out of the Impala. "You get your ass back here and apologise to my car!"

By the time Dean was out of the back seat, Sam was far off. He laughed manically, stopping his run to shout back: "I think you got that last letter wrong!"

"Bitch!"

Sam laughed more like the crazy person he was and ran back inside. Dean grumbled but turned back, deciding that his shirt could be useful not to mention his only jacket. Castiel was fully dressed, even though there was no way he could've put clothes on in such a short time. It must've been some angel trick. He handed Dean his clothes and the human took them, albeit grudgingly, because it meant that he really would have to get moving. It could be the last day of his life if all went wrong, but when Castiel gave him a reassuring look, he realized that it was okay. Any day could be his last, and if it was today at least that would mean he would go out trying to save his brother.

They headed inside together and were instantly harassed by Gabriel after the door closed behind them.

"Castiel!" the archangel cried out, latching himself on the younger angel's shoulders. "You scheming little, you—oh I'm so proud my baby brother is growing up!"

He wiped a fake tear from his eyes. Castiel looked more than a little uncomfortable.

"Gabriel, please…"

"I can still remember when you were just a little ball of feathers!"

Crowley, who was leaning against the kitchen doorway holding a cup of steaming tea, snorted.

"So the two of you jumped in the shack… fancy that. I never thought it would happen so soon."

Gabriel raised his head. "I know! It shocked me too!"

"Wait a minute," Dean started to protest, but didn't get to continue as Bobby called them into the kitchen to eat so that they wouldn't waste the whole day. After breakfast, lots of good-willed (except in Crowley's case, probably) arguments, and too much laughing from Sam (who swore he hadn't laughed as much in his whole life as he did that morning) they were able to call themselves ready.

The sky was grey and hung low like impending doom above them as the seven members of team free will stood in a silent row on the yard of Bobby's garage. Gabriel stepped forward, giving them all his usual, never-fading grin of confidence.

"Let's light this candle."

Then he snapped his fingers.

-x-

The hospital in Maryland was like most hospitals were: a white sterile looking building with a large parking lot in front, where lots of cars were stopping and starting. People were walking in and out looking worried, indifferent, relieved, tired… the stream was never-ending. Dean turned away from the building and nodded to Bobby, Chuck and Crowley.

"You're makin' a serious face, boy. It doesn't suit you," the older hunter said with his usual gruff voice, and suddenly Dean was very grateful he'd ever met him.

In all truth, for the less than a month he'd spent with Bobby, the man had been like a father to Dean. When he had been a kid, he'd looked up to his father, in a way he guessed he still did. He'd been afraid of him, he'd respected him and he'd wanted to be a good son to him. He never _could _do it; because no matter how many times Sam and their dad had fought, Sam had still had been the son who made John Winchester the proudest. Dean had been like a soldier—he didn't cause trouble, didn't bring shame to his family and kept Sam safe.

And hell, if it was up to him, he _would _keep Sammy safe.

Nevertheless, when he'd appeared on Bobby's doorstep, the man had taken him in, no questions asked. Maybe it had been something he'd longed for all his life, and even now as the man stood before him, he could see the genuine worry mixed with pride beneath the man's slightly wrinkled face.

Dean swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and tried to smile reassuringly.

"This is the face of a champion—no flaws," he joked and Bobby seemed pleased. They didn't say good byes or wish each other luck, because there was no need—they knew it without words.

Chuck quivered behind Crowley.

"You… you'll find Lilith alone," he spoke up quietly, but in an uncharacteristically determined voice. "I really wish I could tell you how it goes from there, but…"

"Chuck, it's okay," Sam said reassuringly and smiled a little. "You've been a big help already."

"I'll be with the prophet boy, so don't get you knickers in a twist, Moose." Crowley smirked as Sam pulled a face at him.

"Everyone set? Good!" Gabriel beamed. "Let's get going kiddo. We have the whole first floor to explore."

"Sam," Dean grabbed his brother's arm, painfully realizing how big his little Sammy had gotten, how he would never see him grow if he—no, they all—couldn't solve this mess they were in.

Sam looked at him, all those unresolved issues that had been between them were still there, but stronger than that was the will that bound them together. They were still brothers, they'd get through this _together_.

"Dean," Sam said, soft but secure, and Dean let go of his coat and let him walk inside with Gabriel.

He watched the back grow smaller, like watching Sam get younger and younger and remembered what he was fighting for.

Family—and it wasn't just Sam, it was Bobby and it was the Harvelles, Chuck and his odd but pretty girlfriend, and even his parents, who didn't know anything about the things that were happening here—they thought Sam was on a school trip because of Gabriel. He had to keep going for these people's sake, because they deserved to live and be happy.

He knew Castiel was by his side, and felt the soft brush of the angel's fingers against his own, subtle but comforting. He looked up to those blue eyes and thought that perhaps it was alright to fight a bit for himself too.

"Let's go."

-x-

The hallways were lively, and no one paid them much mind as they passed rooms upon rooms—they were just two of the many people who visited the hospital every day. Even their stern unreadable expressions weren't that new… it was the face of unwavering resolution, the face of someone who still has to try even if all seems bad. Dean glanced in from every doorway, not really sure what he was looking for, but never letting it show. Cas walked behind him, brows burrowed in concentration as he felt the area around them, trying to locate any ounce of evil presence.

They were in a hallway near the maternity ward when Dean plopped down on a chair and sighed. A passing nurse gave him a sympathetic look.

"Shouldn't she be here somewhere?" Dean asked, rubbing his forehead.

"She is clever," Castiel stated calmly, remaining upright. "She's able to conceal herself very well, I won't know where she is until we are close."

The angel looked around, lips drawn together in a thin line.

"I'm doing the best I can," he added after a minute of silence.

"Sure…"

They had a quiet staring contest, which ended when Dean tilted his head away, getting up from the chair.

"We should keep looking," he mumbled, but Castiel remained where he was, thoughtful. "Cas?"

"Can I…" the angel trailed off then started again, more sure this time. "Do you remember anything from your past life?"

Dean paused. "No, not really… Why do you ask?"

"Because you're different," he answered without missing a beat. "And because you're the same."

"What the—"

"I can remember you, many times over, as if there were not only two but hundreds, even thousands of lives you lead before this one. Your image, your existence was the sole purpose I did this all."

Dean stared at Cas at a loss for words.

"It would do you well to remember that."

And Dean did, _hell, _he really did. Just seeing Castiel, flasher-coat and all, made him remember almost painfully how protected he was, how much he still had left. He didn't want to lose it, even though he couldn't remember anything that maybe had been in another life, he didn't want to experience the pain again.

"I will," Dean said, serious like never before. "I'm not going to say it every day, but I do."

The angel's expression softened.

"I might…"

Mid sentence he tensed up.

"She's here."

He spurred to action, Dean at his heels, and led them through the maternity ward to a more secluded hallway. Sam was suddenly by Dean's side, Gabriel walking right next to his own brother. They entered an unlit room at the far-end of the corridor and the door clicked shut behind them. There, wearing a black satin dress and sitting on a desk, was Lilith.

"Hello boys," she said. "How nice of you to visit."

-x-

It was the 28th of March 1999, a Sunday and it was barely past nine in the morning.

After a star trek all-nighter with her friends Rebecca Rosen was walking in the soft glow of the morning sun. Figuring she'd fall asleep better if she was in Chuck's house, she headed there. She was sleepily wondering about Chuck's whereabouts and stumbling in his room, trying to find something light to wear, when she found a small black box.

The tiny object, which she found inside, made her burst out crying and laughing at the same time.

Far from the home of the only living prophet in the ever as homely Harvelle's Roadhouse Ellen and Jo were both still sound asleep, enjoying the only lazy day of their weeks. Unbeknownst to Dean, the previous night Jo had found his old lighter, which he'd lost during the time he'd spent with the Harvelles. She had hidden it to her pocket, wowing that someday she'd use it in the same manner Dean had used it before her.

Ellen would of course try to stop her, but it didn't matter. She'd still be proud of her daughter whatever road she chose.

In Illinois, in her nicely decorated home Pamela Barnes was making herself tea when she felt a horrible shiver shake her whole being. She dropped her favorite cup—one she'd received as a gift from Bobby Singer. It snapped cleanly in two halves and suddenly she was very worried. She tried to call her old hunter friend, but it went straight to voicemail.

For the rest of the morning she sat in the living room, holding the halves of the cup in her hands.

Inside a pretty two storey house in Lawrence, Kansas, John Winchester still slept, while his wife was stirred awake by a strange feeling of worry creeping to her mind. She tiptoed away from the bedroom and on a whim decided to visit Dean's old room. It was the same as it had been on the day her son left; she had kept it that way. There was even an old note on his desk still, scribbled in Dean's unmistakable hand-writing.

"_Here I am just waiting for a sign  
>Asking questions, learning all the time<br>It's always here, it's always there  
>It's just love, and miracles out of nowhere"<em>

The old Kansas song echoed from her memory. She realized she was crying when the first drops of salty water fell on the page.

In the unfortunate hospital somewhere in Maryland, a woman with luscious red lips and perfect blonde curls smiled as her eyes blinked white.

-x-

"You…" Sam growled but Gabriel held him firmly back, stopping the teen from taking any steps towards the demon, towards danger.

"Yes, me," Lilith said, smiling as venomously as ever. "My dear Sammy… you've come to get back what's yours? But you sold it fair and square—are you being fair, now?"

Sam didn't get to answer, because Castiel broke in.

"You know what we want, demon," he said, voice gruff with something that could've been anger or disgust. "We _will _be fair. Hand over the contract, and we will spare you."

Gabriel perked up, surprised. "We will?"

"Or refuse and we shall end your miserable existence."

"But I can't!" She cried out in mock terror. "I cannot break the contact, even if you do ask so nicely."

"Then you leave us no choice."

The lights in the room started to flicker.

"Don't be hasty," Lilith said, emphasizing each word sharply. "It will gain you nothing."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, glaring at her from behind the trench coat wearing angel.

"I mean," she chuckled, "that you boys have got this all wrong. Can't blame you really, you couldn't have known…"

"Known what?" He continued, while a feeling of uncertainness crept up his spine. "What the hell do you mean?"

"No need to get angry."

Lilith plopped herself down from the desk and started walking around it, irritatingly slow and making dramatic gestures as she spoke.

"I'll tell you: this is a _very _special little contract, and as such it cannot be broken so easily. I cannot break it, because it is already, ah how do I say, _tied _to me."

She stopped by the window, laughing silently while Dean thought he should've known how this would o with their Winchester luck.

"Which mean that if you kill me it will be read as a violation against the terms of the contract and your cute little Sam… well, he won't live to see what happens, right?"

"Why you…" This time it was Castiel's turn to hold Dean back. Sam was too much disappointed or in shock to react—he only stood still and stared at the malevolently smiling woman.

"Oh, and the last seal business," she still went on. "No chance. _You_ angels aren't the only one's capable of bringing beings back from the dead… I would think that you of all should know that our Lord is an angel too."

It probably is needless to say, that at this point they had all pretty much lost hope.

Sam looked from Lilith to Gabriel, who turned his gaze down shielding his emotions from the boy. Castiel seemed to be completely abashed as he kept staring at the demon behind the desk and holding Dean, even when there was no need for it anymore. The older Winchester brother let himself be held, tossing his pride aside because he couldn't find any other light in the situation than that he was with Cas.

Because no, they didn't have much and it seemed they never would, but it felt right. He would've wanted to try it… fighting over stupid things and talking and just living. He would've wanted to go home once more and prove his father he was a good son, would've wanted to hear his mother singing once more, wanted to introduce Castiel to them, even if they'd called him crazy after it. He would've wanted to see Sam grow up, wanted him to go to Stanford or some other fancy school and become a lawyer like he sometimes had said he wanted to be. He would've wanted to meet Jessica, to get to know her since she had become such a big part of his brother's life. Hell, he would've even liked to make nice with Gabriel since Sam seemed to like the guy.

There were so many things he would've wanted to do, but most of all, he would've wanted to save his brother. Lilith smiled at him, like a silent invitation: _you still can, just say yes to me._

Dean closed his eyes and prayed.

At the same moment, something crashed through the door and everything went white.

-x-

Chuck didn't feel too good.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he hadn't been feeling well since the moment he woke up. It might've had something to do with his natural nervousness, but somehow it was different—he just couldn't put a finger on it and that made it even more unnerving. And so there he was, sitting in the lobby of some hospital, chewing on his lower lip and feeling the sense of pure wrongness nib away in his being. Besides him on another chair sat Bobby Singer, as solemn as ever, watching the passing people with perception that was rarely found. The demon in the room—that is, Crowley—kept walking around as if nervous and even disappeared for a while only to return with a cup of tea from the hospital café.

He sat down across from Chuck, took a sip of his drink and made a face.

"Bugger it all," Crowley growled. "It's taking them too darn long, were sitting ducks here and this tastes like piss."

"Quit yer whining," Bobby grumbled in response. "If something had gone wrong, we'd know already."

"Do—do you think they're doing alright?" Chuck asked unsurely, worry nabbing in his mind.

The older man smiled. The action was a bit rough on the edges, just like Bobby himself.

"Knowing Dean and what he's told of his brother… I don't doubt it."

"They've angels for heaven's sake," Crowley said in a sarcastic tone. "Well, it's true."

"So even Lilith won't stand a chance?" Bobby threw him a look.

"She'll be roasted," Crowley said, smiling wickedly. "Just the way I like her."

The demon resumed to sipping the foul tasting liquid they had the nerve to call "tea" at the café. Bobby too went back to watching the trespassers. Chuck wavered, not sure if he should say something, but decided to keep it to himself.

"_This isn't right,"_ he thought silently. _"Something isn't right."_

Right after that he felt a knock in his… mind.

Yes, a knock.

He looked around, but no one else seemed to react. There was no knocking in the hospital lobby, only in his head. Actually, as alarming as it was, it looked like the entire room had completely stilled. It was as if time had stopped right then and there. The knock sounded again.

"_Uh, hello?" _he asked aloud, feeling incredibly stupid and fearful at the same time.

To his immediate surprise a gentle, warm voice answered.

"_Hello Chuck. I'm glad you answered"_

The words came with a wave of power and indescribable emotion, unlike anything he'd ever felt. Chuck gasped and felt his eyes water against his will. He hadn't cried since he'd been 14 and his first girlfriend had been a total bitch. Now though, there was no need, and he still felt like breaking down, right there and then.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Chuck sobbed in a small voice. He absentmindedly noticed that some four meters to his right a small girl was frozen in mid air. She had been jumping up and down in front of her mother. It was surreal.

The strange voice seemed to laugh. It sounded like thousand of silver bells and birds chirping on a lazy summer morning.

"_What do I want? Fair enough. I want to help. I've always wanted to help and always will."_

A gust of wind blew out of nowhere and for a moment all was silent.

Chuck swallowed.

"_I think you know who I am."_

"Yes," he nodded. "I want to help too."

After that, he remembered no more.

-x-

There are things you're not supposed to see, ever, and Dean Winchester was fairly certain that the horrified grimace Crowley was making when he suddenly appeared before him was one of those things. The demon didn't come alone, of course. Beside him was an obviously baffled Bobby. And Chuck…Chuck was glowing.

What more, that wasn't even the most unexpected thing in the whole situation. As soon as the three had appeared before them, Lilith had let out a strangled scream, and dropped to her knees as if in pain. Also, Castiel let go of him, taking a few wobbly steps towards Chuck, joined by Gabriel who had a similar expression of awe on his face.

Dean… well, he was confused as hell.

"Ookay," he said. "Could some explain what the fuck is going on over here?"

Sam apparently couldn't bring himself to speak, so the boy just nodded like he was agreeing to the question, moving just a bit closer to his brother out of long forgotten habit.

The Chuck, who wasn't Chuck—couldn't be since he was smiling like he'd just won the lottery—just tilted his head. It was strange, sort of creepy even, because it looked exactly like the tilt Cas sometimes did.

"_You called for help, did you not?" _He said, and by the voice it was evident that the being in the room was definitely not Chuck the prophet. _"I have come now… I am sorry, truly, for it took me a bit longer than I initially intended."_

Sam seemed to find his tongue. "So you're…"

"Father," breathed Castiel, answering them all.

"_Yes," _He said. _"I am."_

Everyone in the room fell very silent and still. Castiel and Gabriel astounded by the sudden appearance of their Father. Sam and Dean dumbfounded both for their own reasons. Sam couldn't believe he was seeing the Lord with his own eyes and Dean just couldn't believe what he was seeing—and what about Chuck?

"_Do not worry for him," _God answered his silent question. _"He is quite safe, sleeping in his own mind while I borrow his body. It was necessary for me to do this, in order to interrupt the events of this day."_

"Father," Castiel spoke up again determined, but as God turned to him he drew back a little, perhaps embarrassed by his own boldness. "If I may… we have been in this situation already before."

"_Castiel, child," _He sighed. _"I know, more than anyone. I have watched over you and Dean countless of times, repeating the same mistakes, repeating the same sad ending all over again, until even I have forgotten how it all began. I was delayed, whether because of my own indecision or something else entirely, I do not know. It seems now that it is necessary for me to take action, to ensure that this is the last time you'll suffer."_

"Why?" Dean asked. He had to.

"_Why?"_ God-Chuck's voice seemed to radiate amusement._ "Because I love you, that's why." _He stepped forward. The angels made way for Him as He walked to the blonde demon. He spoke to Lilith in a sad tone. _"You were once a child of mine too. Time can save or destroy, but in this case it will tell. You'll be sealed away until a more suitable scenario for what you bring arrives."_

He raised his hand to touch her head and she disappeared in a flash of pure white light. Then He turned around and His eyes fell on Crowley, who might have or might have not been whimpering slightly. He smiled.

"_As for you… well. You were never that good of a demon, not really. You would say you all of this, and all that you have done in the past, is out of self-interest. And while it was true, it isn't entirely anymore. Let's say we forget this misfortunate selling souls-business, and give you a better chance at life."_

And so, Crowley's heart started beating.

Moving on he smiled to Bobby and then turned to Sam.

"_This was truly the best alternative you've had…" _He said, maybe more to Himself than to the people in the room.

"_Sam… You've grown accustomed to Gabriel's presence, but I have to borrow him for a while." _Throwing the messenger a meaningful look he continued_. "We must leave, for we have lots of work to do."_

Finally, turning to Dean and Castiel He seemed to smile so much that His glow burned brighter.

"_Be happy," _He said simply, and just like that He was gone in the same blinding whiteness that He had appeared in, Gabriel following in his leave, promising Sam he'd be back to visit when he had the chance.

So yes, with all the bad things, there was something that was meant to happen, meant to be seen—like the look that Dean and Castiel shared as they realized it was all over, all good and right.

-x-

In the end it went all fine.

Chuck came to his senses, and albeit a little dizzy he was otherwise alright. They stumbled out of the hospital without anyone noticing and on the yard realized that they were stranded in Maryland, because God had been helpful enough to make Castiel human too and thus they had nobody to teleport them away. Luckily, He was also helpful enough to move them all to Bobby's house, after a short while of grumbling from Dean. From there the group split up, with the promise of keeping in touch—a promise that was well remembered.

Crowley said that he was going to travel, figure out what he was going to do with the remainder of his life now that he was mortal.

Chuck went back home to Becky and they got married sometime after and had seven children and all was well for them.

Bobby... he got in touch with Pamela after those missed calls. She actually moved in with him, but nobody knew if they ever got married or even engaged.

Sam, Dean and Cas traveled back to Lawrence. Mary cried a lot and John was happy to see both his boys, even when Dean introduced Castiel to them. The former angel—who still wore the stupid trench coat—and the boy who still saw things—and occasionally hunted them too—got to live together like they'd probably always wanted to. It may be needless to say that they lived happily ever after.

Oh and Sam? He grew taller than anyone, just like he had threatened, but what happened in his life after that… well, that's an entirely different story.

**The End**

-x-

Oh damn, it's over. Sorry for the delay, I was busybusybusy. But... thank you so much to all of you for reading White noise. I've appreciated all your comments and favs and I hope I managed to write the story a fitting end. Now I'm off to other projects, so see you!


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